


A Little Unfinished Business

by Magnetism_bind



Series: The Business [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Biting, Bondage, Cannibalism, Couch Sex, Discussion Of Murder, Dreams, Glove Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Prostitution, Restraints, Rimming, Scars, Tie Kink, hallucination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years later Will Graham returns to Baltimore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Baltimore_

 Will pops the aspirin in his mouth and leans over the drinking fountain. The court proceedings had dragged on much longer than expected. His headache hasn’t improved, and as a result he suspects the testimony he just offered for the case won’t look good in retrospect. Too late to worry about that now though. At least it’s done.

He gulps down the pill, swallowing the stream of cold water. Will straightens up, wiping a hand over his mouth. The courthouse hallway is half deserted this time of the afternoon. Will’s gaze drifts over the paralegals standing with their folders, to the bored looking woman tapping away at her phone, to the man standing at the far end of the hall. There’s an odd sharp twist in his stomach. His hand drifts automatically to his thigh. It’s been ten years, but he can still remember teeth biting into his skin.

Will stares and across the length of the room Hannibal Lecter gazes back.

It’s a dream. It has to be. Yes, he’s back in Baltimore, but what are the odds that he would run into Hannibal here of all places? Will bites the inside of his cheek and tastes salty-sweet. It’s a dream, but it tastes real. He’s had dreams about Hannibal before, but here Hannibal’s just looking at him. In Will’s dreams, Hannibal does so much more than look.

He licks the inside of his mouth. His cheek stings. Will counts to ten, and knows this isn’t a dream, because Jack exits the courtroom and Hannibal turns towards him with a familiar greeting. This is reality closing in on him, trapping him in the corridor with nowhere to run.

Will turns and heads for the bathroom. The restroom is thankfully empty. He braces his hands against the dead white porcelain of the sink and stares at the drain. How is this real?

The door opens, and he glances up in the mirror, shoulders tensing.

“How are you, Will?” Hannibal asks as though it’s perfectly natural to follow someone into a bathroom after you haven’t seen them in ten years. After the last time you saw them you gave them an envelope of money and a way out - after you killed someone for them.

Maybe it is natural for him, Will reflects. Hannibal always did have good manners.

“Fine.” He straightens up. His voice sounds perfectly normal. His hands are steady as he turns to face Hannibal. “How do you know Jack Crawford?”

 “I met him several years ago through a client.” Hannibal eyes him with that same intensely scrutinizing curiosity that Will has never managed to forget. “The question is, how do _you_ know Jack?”

“I work for him.” Will grits out. “At least, I, sometimes.” His hands find the sink again, steadying himself as he leans back against it.

“Will,” Hannibal starts, but the door swings open and Jack enters.

“There you are.” He exclaims, pausing at the sight of the two of them. “I see you’ve met Mr. Lecter.”

“This is who you were looking for?” Hannibal raises an eyebrow before he glances back at Will.

 _What has Jack told him? More importantly, what has Hannibal told Jack?_ Will’s throat is tight with imprisoned words. He can’t look at either of them, instead choosing a tile on the floor to direct his focus.

“I owe Will a ride back to his home in Wolf Trap.” Jack tells Hannibal. “Otherwise, I would definitely accept your invitation to dinner tonight.”

Hannibal looks again at Will as he hears this. Will’s glad that Hannibal knows he’s not in Baltimore. There’s distance between him and that house. Distance is safe. At the same time now Hannibal knows where he is, knows he’s a lot closer than previously. That’s the opposite of safe.

Then he focuses on what else Jack said. “Dinner?” Will’s fingers dig into the porcelain sink. “Did I miss something?” Why would they be meeting for dinner? He can’t bring himself to look at Hannibal again. The tile is an off-shade of creamy white, dulled by the scuff marks of the hundreds of pairs of shoes traveling over it day after day after day. Will sympathizes with the tile.

“I was only trying to persuade Jack to come for dinner.” Hannibal explains. “Of course, you’re welcome to come too, Mr. Graham.”

Will bites his cheek again to keep from laughing at it. The absurdity of Hannibal calling him that. The idea of being at his table again. His cock twitches at that, even as his throat tightens once more.

“It’s only a few friends, nothing too formal.”

“I don’t like dinner parties.” Will lets the words slide off his tongue in a flat even tone. He turns to face the sink again, running a handful of water to splash over his face. He can feel Hannibal’s eyes on the back of his neck. Is this really happening? The room feels real enough, but how can he be sure?

“Your head still bothering you?” The note of concern in Jack’s voice just makes his head worse.

“It’s fine.” Will says. “I just need to get home, get some sleep.”

“Possibly what you need is a good meal. You sure I can’t persuade you to come for dinner?” Hannibal’s invitation sounds polite enough, but Will just shakes his head. He’s not thinking of Hannibal’s house, or his table, or anything else involving the word _come._ His cock stirs again.

“Sorry.” He looks at Jack. ”Can we go?”

“Another time.” Jack shakes Hannibal’s hand and pulls the door open.

“Another time.” Hannibal murmurs as Will walks past him.

It’s hard not to take it as a warning, let alone as a promise.

*  *  *

Will pulls his coat tighter around him, leaning back in his seat. Jack’s car is always cold, but this time it’s him, like the heat can’t reach him.

“You sure you’re feeling all right?” Jack nudges the heater up a little more.

“I’m okay.” Will keeps his eyes straight ahead.

_“You sure I can’t persuade you to come for dinner?”_

_“Don’t come before I get back.”_

_“How long can I make this last?”_

Will closes his eyes, but that does little to block out the overload of vivid memories. He should have been prepared for this. He’d accepted there was a chance of running into people who knew him when he agreed to work for Jack. It was a risk he had thought he was willing to take.

Now he’s not so sure.

He keeps his gaze on the window. "How do you know Lecter?"

"Oh, a friend had some work done by his company. I met him at a Christmas party years back.” Jack’s silent for a moment, and Will knows there’s something more, something Jack isn’t telling him, but he doesn’t press here. He’s not sure he wants to know another secret concerning Hannibal. There are more than enough already.

“You should see one of his dinners.” Jack continues. “The man really knows how to set a table."

"I've been on his table before." Will murmurs under his breath.

"What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just my headache."

Crawford gives him a look of mild concern and all of a sudden Will can't wait to be out of the car even if there are reminders of the past lurking in the shadows. Why on earth had he come back to Baltimore?

He stares at the window as they drive along. He should tell Jack. That man back there… _He once paid me for an entire weekend of sex, and then…and then, he killed another client of mine and left me alone with the body._

No, perhaps not.

Ever since he told Jack about his past (it was bound to come out at some point. He should know now.) Jack hasn’t mentioned it once. For some reason he’s marked it as “Not relevant to business at hand,” and for that Will is grateful and relieved.

He doesn’t bring it up now. Jack wanted him to come to Baltimore. Will told him about before, but not everything.

Will sits there in the car, listening to Jack go on about Hannibal’s cooking. There’s a curious disassociation happening around him. He knows where he is, and what’s going on. And yet, how can this be real? Did he really just see Hannibal in the courthouse? Of all the places, of all the people for Hannibal to know, Jack Crawford? He glances sideways at Jack. Jack is real, Jack’s here.

Eventually Jack changes the subject. “How’s your head now?”

“A little better.”

“We’re almost there.” Jack makes another left.

*  *  *

Will gets out of the car and waves, watching Crawford drive off before he goes into the house. The air in his house is chilled and he turns up the heat before sinking into a chair, not even bothering to take his coat off. A warm rasp of a tongue licks his palm and he spreads his hand wider, letting the first dog sniff him.

"Suppose I ought to feed you." He says as the other dogs crowd in as well, all eager for attention.

They all look in agreement with him.

Will pushes himself to his feet, heading towards the kitchen.

He doesn't even know why he's surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and now it has.

'You knew this was a risk when you came back.' A voice tells him. Will considers this he fills each bowl evenly, the dogs watching him with expectant eyes. Is that why he came back though? Is that what was lurking in the back of his mind when he agreed to Jack’s proposal? He’s not too sure.

Setting the bowls in a row, he steps back to look at the dogs. “Now.”

They eat eagerly. Will pets each one, stroking their ears before going upstairs.  
  
He strips off his clothes, and goes to shower. In the bathroom, he pauses, looking down at the scar. It’s faded somewhat over the years, but it’s still there.

*  *  *

Hannibal drives home from the courthouse. He has an hour or so before his guests arrive. He’s tempted to cancel tonight’s dinner, but what reason can he give? Certainly not the truth.

Will’s back. Will Graham. Here. Close.

Hannibal pours himself a glass of wine and sips it slowly. It’s been ten years and Will’s grown into a portrait of a man Hannibal never expected to admire again. Stubbled and weary, and now wearing glasses.

Hannibal closes his eyes. In the restroom Will had smelled like sweat and dogs and some cheap cologne that made Hannibal want to drag him into a shower and scrub him from head to toe until Will was free of it. Yet, the mixture of it all was intoxicating. Just like Will.

*  *  *

In the shower Will stands there, the hot water now fading to lukewarm as it runs off his back. His head still aches despite the asprin. He leans his head forward, letting the spray fall over his neck.

Unconsciously his hand drifts down to the scar on his thigh, rubbing over it. Will’s mind drifts.

The case is finished, but he promised Jack a full report on the killer’s schematics, and he has papers to grade for his class. He doesn’t want to go into Quantico tomorrow. Doesn’t want to risk running into Hannibal again. That’s paranoid, he knows that, but all the same he can’t stop thinking of it.

How does Hannibal know Jack? Simply the coincidence of having met him somewhere? Or something more? He thinks again of whatever Jack isn’t telling him. He should have pushed, but he’s so grateful for Jack’s willingness to ignore his own secrets, that he can’t intrude.

He’d thought about not telling Jack initially for about five minutes when Jack first made him the job offer. And then, he’d just known he had to tell him. Better now than later.

*  *  *

_“There’s something you should know before you hire me.” His palms are sweating. He hasn’t spoken of this…ever. Never, not to a single person in the last ten years._

_Jack sits back in his chair. “Oh?” He looks mildly curious, but nothing more._

_“Yeah. I used to live in Baltimore.”_

_Jack raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?” He’s mildly curious, not apprehensive._

_“Yeah.” Will wipes his hands on his pants, swallowing twice before speaking again, “It was ten years ago.”_

_“So you’re familiar with the area at least.” Jack nods to himself, “That’s good.”_

_Will stifles the snort rising up inside him. “I am familiar with the area.” He takes a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that if I take this job, there’s always the possibility that I could encounter some of my former…clients, and I realize that might be uncomfortable for the bureau.” He waits, wondering if he’ll have to spell it out even more plainly._

_To his credit Jack doesn’t flinch at the implication. “You think you actually encountered any killers during your previous time in Baltimore?”_

_Trust Jack to see if there’s any potential danger there. Serial killers first. Probably prostitutes didn’t even register as a threat._

_‘Just the one,’ Will thought. Just for sure. “I don’t think so, but…”_

_Jack shrugs. “I hear what you’re saying, and I understand your concerns.”_

_“My concerns.” Surely it’s more than that? “Don’t you have concerns?” Shouldn’t the bureau be concerned?_

_“But I think they’re not as heavy as you seem to think. The chances of you running into someone that you encountered previously through prostitution, are slim to none. Like you said. It’s been ten years.”_

_Points for saying the word before Will managed it._

_Jack just looks at him across the desk, expectation in his eyes. He’s not worried about this. And for the first time, Will thinks maybe the past doesn’t matter as much as he thought._

 *  *  *

He gets out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist. The floor is cool under his bare feet. His pajamas are cold. Will shivers as he waits for them to heat up.

He’s not hungry, though he knows he should eat. Instead he pours himself a whiskey and drinks it slowly as he checks to make sure the back door is locked. Foolish. If Hannibal wanted in, a mere lock wouldn’t stop him. Will’s fairly certain of that.

He tucks all the dogs in and goes back upstairs to bed.

*  *  *

_Hannibal leans over him. “This time you won’t get away.” His bare form slides down along Will’s back, pressing him flat upon the bed. His fingers close on Will’s neck, a light hauntingly familiar caress. He knows Will’s body like no one else. His teeth graze over Will’s nipple, a reminder of just how sharp they are. Heat floods Will, burning him until all he can feel is Hannibal’s teeth, devouring him._

Will jerks awake. He’s shaking, lying there in his own bed. His shirt is soaked in sweat. He sits up, pulling it off and tossing it into his laundry basket. He changes into a fresh-t-shirt, cold in spite of the sweat. Reaching for the blanket at the bottom of his bed, he wraps it around his shoulders before going downstairs.

It’s five in the morning. The dogs eye him curiously.

Will stares out his kitchen window, surveying the November landscape. Hannibal’s not out there looming somewhere in the morning gloom. The dream is just that. A dream. A dream that left him breathless and bitterly hard.

Will studies his erection with bleary eyes. So he’s still turned on by the man. No surprises there. His fingers hesitate at the hem of his pajama pants. Then they give in, pushing down into his underwear to grip himself. Will’s eyes shutter closed, his breath coming short as his cock slides between his fingers. He’s warm there at least, blood rushing to his cock, filling it. His palm burns from the quick, needy strokes.

He braces himself against the counter with his left hand as he jerks off, a routine act made unnecessarily intense by the dream, by Hannibal’s lurking presence. Memories lingering just under his skin. Hannibal’s breath upon the back of his neck.

Will comes quietly in his kitchen, his palm covered in semen.

He waits there, still looking out the window as the faint rush of his orgasm fades. There’s no reason to keep looking out the window. Hannibal’s not going to swoop down out of the sky and carry him off.

 _He let me go,_ Will reminds himself. _He could have found out where I bought a ticket. He could have followed me._

He rinses his hand off in the sink, trying not to dwell on what he just did. The unease of the dream won’t leave him. The box at the back of his closet whispers to him, but he doesn’t give in to check it.

His dogs whine, crowding around close around his legs. Will pets them, feeling the warmth of their fur, the sloppy affectionate rasps of their tongues. He’s grateful for the distraction before he lets them out to run across the yard. The cold morning air hits his skin and he shivers, stepping back inside. He watches the dogs from the kitchen door.

The logical part is…what is he really afraid of? What can Hannibal actually do? It’s not like he’s going to seize Will and keep him prisoner in his house. If he had simply wanted to do that, he never would have let Will leave in the first place.

Winston returns first, and Will lets him in, the door closing behind the dog’s tail. The others are still busy, still investigating around the yard as they do their business.

He remembers the way Hannibal looked at him across the hall of the courthouse.

_Fuck._

Will sinks down on his kitchen floor, leaning back against the cabinet. He likes what he has here. He likes working with Jack, and though he often dreams in the night, he has helped close three cases since he’s been back. That’s something, right? It counts.

Before he was just there. Drifting through each day, relieved about being away from his previous life, struggling not to give in to the temptation spreading at the corners of his mind. All he has to do is close his eyes and…

Paranoid. Will rubs at his temples. He’s being paranoid. That’s all it is.

Winston trots across the kitchen floor to nose at the side of his head. Will pets him automatically, carding his fingers through the familiar fur. This is what’s real. He’s sitting here in his kitchen, and there’s nothing to worry about.

Not right now anyway.

*  *  *

Hannibal goes for a run the next morning before he leaves for the office. There’s a chill in the air. He can see his breath as he runs along the sidewalk. The rain’s ended, but there’s still a puddle here and there along the pavement.

As he comes round the block at the end of his run, he can’t help remembering that day when he was returning just like this, only Will was waiting then, restrained and gagged and plugged. Waiting for him.

Hannibal enters his front door and closes the door. There’s no one waiting for him in the bedroom upstairs. Will is miles away. And yet still closer than he’s been in years.

He showers quickly, the hot water rolling pleasantly over his skin.

As charming as Hannibal finds the memories of Will (and they are good memories, memories he’s more than a little fond of) there’s an undeniable curiosity at the thought of Will _now._   He looks a little rumpled and tired, can’t be bothered to shave or doesn’t remember to. The glasses Will wears now lend his face a certain vulnerability, as though he’s all too aware that he’s hiding, and yet can’t not.

The world is very small sometimes and here they are again. Hannibal tilts his head back under the spray, thinking of what it will take to persuade Will back to his home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Will moves through his dream with silent abandonment. Since seeing Hannibal again his nights are mired even deeper in twisting confusion and dark imagery. His mind wanders further every night, remembering things he’s forgotten, or told himself that he has. Inventing new images where the old ones have grown slightly fuzzy and worn around the edges, new pictures sprouting up in the midst of blankness, filling the emptiness with vivid colors.

These nights Hannibal is the center point of his dreams. For the last decade Will has done his best to pack his memories of the man away, folding them carefully and keeping the drawer tightly closed. Now they’re getting aired, mothballs discarded.

It’s uncomfortable having them on display once more. Try as Will might to reconcile the two parts of himself, the past is still another place. Another time. Another him. The now is worrying enough. Why does he have to remember back then as well?

*  *  *

_Wolf Trap._

These days Will lives well away from the city in a house surrounded by an expanse of open undeveloped land. Hannibal looks it over as he drives up to the house. There are plenty of trees on the property, lots of space. It suits Will.

He parks the car and considers a moment before getting out. This visit is an attempt to put Will at ease, but now that he’s here, Hannibal wonders if perhaps he should have waited longer. There’s something defensive about the house sitting apart in the middle of nowhere. But if Hannibal waits for Will to be back in _his_ space, it will take forever. Hannibal is patient, but sometimes curiosity must be fed.

He picks up the covered dish on the passenger seat and gets out of the car, carrying it up to the porch. Hannibal knocks at the door and waits.

There’s a pack of dogs at Will’s heels when he answers the door. He stands there in his pajama pants and t-shirt, hesitating at the sight of Hannibal on his porch. The dish warms Hannibal’s hands through his gloves, but everything else around him is bitterly cold.

“Stay.” Will says at last to the dogs, his tone firm. He looks up at Hannibal, clearly uncomfortable with this situation. “Something I can help you with?” There’s hesitancy in his voice over his phrasing of that question. Hannibal can imagine the alternatives. He thinks of the answers he might have given.

Instead he simply inquires, “May I come in?”

Will’s reluctant, but Hannibal’s already here. “All right.” He takes a step back and holds the door open as Hannibal enters his home.

Hannibal looks around the room thoughtfully as Will closes the door. The house is conventionally pleasant, if rather untidy. There’s fishing equipment set up at the desk in the corner. Dog hair on the furniture. Empty whiskey glass on the table.

Will just stands there, arms folded across his chest as he watches Hannibal inspect his home.

“So why'd you come to see me?” The defensive set to his shoulders is habitual. A quick smoothing gesture to those shoulders wouldn’t calm them, yet Hannibal considers it anyway. He has a curious desire to touch Will, to learn how his body has changed over the years. Does he still look so sleepy after getting fucked? Has he lost the startled look in his eye when pleasure overwhelms him with surprise?

“I confess I was curious.” Hannibal tells him. “And I made you breakfast.”

Will doesn’t know how to take either of those statements. He goes with the second one first. “You didn’t have to do that.”  

“I wanted to. When I saw you at the courthouse…” Hannibal pauses, “Is there some place I could put this, until you’re feeling hungry perhaps?”

“Yes,” Will says, manners belatedly kicking in. “In the kitchen. Here.”

Hannibal follows Will further into the house, watching him.

“You can put it on the counter there.” Will turns his back for a brief moment, searching for something to do. “Would you like some coffee…or tea…or something else?”

“Coffee, if it’s no trouble.”

Here in his own territory Will is somewhat more comfortable than in the courthouse restroom. He gets the coffee maker going, and then seems at a loss again. There’s a dog sitting on the floor watching them. Hannibal studies it, giving his attention to the animal instead of Will, easing him back into the comfortable state.

The coffee pot burbles.

After a moment Will returns to what Hannibal said. He leans back against the kitchen counter, eying Hannibal. “You said you were curious.”

“Yes.”

“Curious about what?”

“You. Now.”

“Me.” Will rubs at his shoulders. “Why would you be curious about me?” He looks genuinely bemused, and it’s this that touches Hannibal. Will still doesn’t see why anyone would be interested in him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Hannibal asks. It’s the truth. There isn’t a single aspect about Will that he doesn’t find intriguing. It’s been ten years, and he was curious before now. The length of time hasn’t lessened his interest.

Will makes no answer.

*  *  *

Will rubs at his bare arms again. He wishes he had a sweater on. At least he’s wearing pants for once. He doesn’t want to think about Hannibal’s reaction if he had opened the door in nothing but his shorts. His dick stirs. Apparently it likes that thought.

Hannibal looks around the kitchen, and for an awful moment Will wonders what he would he do if he knew Will had jerked off right here the other morning. He presses his feet flat against the floor, taking a long breath.

Hannibal glances at him. "How long have you been back in Baltimore?"

"Six months give or take a few days." Will watches Hannibal assess this information. He’s so still, standing here in Will’s house. Something claws at Will’s lungs, and he recognizes it abruptly as the overwhelming sense of danger that he felt in Hannibal’s study that first night. His bare feet are sweaty against the floor. What danger is he in now, here in his own kitchen?

"So you were the consultant on the Thomas case Jack was working on." Hannibal purses his lips. Will tracks the motion, and remembers all too well the feeling of that mouth on his skin. Then he hears the words. Hannibal keeps having that effect on him. Distracting him, causing him to slow down and get stuck in slow motion behind real time.

"Jack told you about that case?" Will knows Hannibal hears the surprise in his voice. Too late now. He turns back to the coffee pot, willing it to brew faster. Why had he offered Hannibal anything? Why hadn’t he just told him to go?

"He mentioned it once. It wasn't the time to go into a great deal of detail," Hannibal eyes Will’s hunched shoulders. The temptation to curve his palm over the back of Will’s neck is difficult to resist.

"What else did he mention?" Finally the coffee’s done. Will pours them each a cup. Hannibal accepts a dab of milk since Will has no cream. He adds sugar and stirs it carefully, the spoon swirling through the liquid. Will cups his mug of black to his chest and thinks about the fact that Hannibal’s in _his_ kitchen for a change. Funny that.

"That he had a special consultant and the chances of finding the killer were better than they had been before." Hannibal brings the cup up to his nose and sniffs faintly before finally taking a sip.

"That's me," Wills lips thin to a faint sardonic smile. "Special."

“You say that as though you don’t believe it.” Hannibal observes.

The dog stays by Will’s side, a faithful watchdog indeed.

“I don’t have any point of reference for that.” Will scratches at his chin. He still hasn’t shaved and Hannibal imagines grazing his teeth over Will’s jaw.  

“You’re not wearing your glasses.”

Will blinks at him. “I don’t wear them when I sleep.”

“Are you sleeping now?” Hannibal takes another sip of coffee.

“No.” Will sets his coffee down. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then looks straight at Hannibal. “Is there something in particular you wanted to see me about?” He can get through this. All he has to do is get through this and then Hannibal will be gone.

“As I stated previously, I was curious about you.” Hannibal returns his gaze. “Is there nothing you’re curious about, Will? Nothing you want to know?”

There are lots of things Will wants to know. Why Hannibal gave him money and let him go back then. Why he made him breakfast now.  Why he still looks at Will like there’s something valuable in the sight he sees.

He settles on “Why did you come here?”

“You wouldn’t come to me, so I came to you.” Hannibal states.

“Normally when someone refuses an invitation, it’s because they want to be left alone.”

“Would you like me to leave then?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal sets his cup down, waiting.

“And no.” Will sighs tiredly. “I don’t know.” He’s cold and he’s tired, and he wishes like anything that Hannibal would just stop looking at him like that.

“What are your plans for the day?”

Will blinks again at the change of subject. “I have some casework I have to go over.”

“I suggest you eat something and then go back to bed for a while. You look as you though you could do with a few more hours of sleep. The files will be waiting for you when you wake up.” Hannibal turns to the doorway, and then, “Might I also suggest you put on a sweater? You look chilled.”

With that he heads for the front door, leaving Will in the kitchen.

Will hears the door close, and then listens as the car starts and Hannibal drives away. The sound fades and the quiet of the kitchen consumes him. He survived.

The dish that Hannibal left him remains on the counter. Will eyes it. And then, curious (see, Hannibal, he can be curious too) he lifts the lid. It’s a dish of sausage and eggs. Innocent enough. Hannibal never drugged him during that weekend and Will finds it hard to believe he would do so now. Even so he looks at the food for a long time before finally getting a fork.

It’s good.

Good enough that Will gives in, and heats it up. He eats at the table, one handed, distracting the dogs with the other. They’re also interested in Hannibal’s food.

When he’s done, Will rinses the dish and then leaves it in the sink. At some point he’ll have to do something with it, but for now he leaves it there.

It’s nearly ten o'clock by then. He should get to work. Instead he goes back to bed.

*  *  *

Hannibal drives away from Will’s house, heading in the general direction of home. He has a long enough drive to consider the visit from all angles and at last concludes that overall it went satisfactorily.

Then there’s the matter of Will masturbating in his kitchen. Hannibal purses his lips, reliving the moment of realization of that. The scent of Will, however faint, is intoxicating.

There’s a hunger in him that has nothing to do with food, or rather…the food will follow later. After a moment’s reflection, Hannibal drives downtown instead of straight home. There’s a lawyer who’s been on his list for months. He runs in the park in the afternoon after lunch. That will do.

The park is deserted this time of afternoon. Hannibal parks and walks along the path quietly, avoiding the muddier patches of snow. There’s a drinking fountain at a certain curve of the path, where joggers usually stop to fill their water bottles.

He waits, his breath clear in the crisp cold air.

There’s the slap of running feet on the pavement rounding the curve. Hannibal watches as the man slows to a stop before the drinking fountain. He rests his hands on his knees, breathing deeply and then straightens up to lean over the fountain.

Hannibal moves swiftly behind him. He snaps the man’s neck, the motion satisfying in his hands. The lawyer slumps to the ground. Hannibal looks up at the sky. He can smell Will’s scent in the air, and knows it’s his imagination. But not for long. He inhales, tasting the cold. It’s supposed to snow again this evening.

Hannibal places the body in his car and drives home.

*  *  *

A few nights later Jack drops by Hannibal’s home for a drink after work. Hannibal welcomes him in. “How’re things going with the case?” They don’t always talk of work, but sometimes Jack needs to, and Hannibal is always willing to oblige.

“Not too well.” Jack admits. “I’m afraid I might have to bring Will in on this one.”

Hannibal ushers him into his study. He pours them each a brandy. “Tell me about him.”

Jack accepts his drink and takes a sip before answering. “Will is…he possesses an incredibly rare talent. He can put himself in the shoes of a killer. He sees things.” Jack shakes his head. “It’s strangely fascinating at times, this empathy of his.”

Hannibal assesses this. He wonders if Will still dreams, remembering Will’s shaking against him in the bathtub, gripping the side of the tub. Who calms Will now after his nightmares?

“Wolf Trap is quite a ways for a commute.” He comments.

“I agree. I don’t see why he doesn’t want an apartment here in Baltimore, but with all those dogs.” Jack shakes his head. “Still, it works for him. He needs space.”

“I imagine so.” Hannibal muses. “He seems a most intriguing man.” That’s the only description of Will that he can say to Jack. It is honest enough, if succinct.

“I’ll tell him you said so.” Jack chuckles.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Hannibal tells him. “If Will’s not to seem too intimidated by me, I would rather engage with him more naturally.”

“Well, you can’t get more natural than meeting him in the john.” Jack laughs.

“I suppose not.” Hannibal smiles and takes a sip of brandy.

Jack settles back in his chair. “I do worry about him sometimes.” It’s hard to admit, but there are times when he wonders if he’s doing the right thing by letting Will work on these cases. And then he thinks of the cases Will’s helped with so far, the killers he’s helped catch, and Jack knows it’s worth it.

He hasn’t even spoken of this to Bella. There’s no point in worrying her. Hannibal though, Hannibal can handle it. Jack finds himself reassured by this. They go back a long time and, unlike a lot of people, Hannibal’s never thought Jack failed him.

“I’m sure Will understands that.” Hannibal tells him.

“I really am lucky to have him though. It’s Mississippi’s police force’s loss.”

Hannibal turns his head slightly, considering this. “He used to be a cop?” 

“He was in training for it when I stumbled across him. I persuaded him to come back here and work for me instead.”

Hannibal takes another sip. He should have known that. Over the years he had been considerate, wanting to keep tabs on Will, but not too closely. The urge to keep Will is still strong, so he had simply left Will alone.

And now here Will was, reentering Hannibal’s circle.

If you love something, set it free.

True, Will hadn’t come back straight to him, but he had come back. That, Hannibal reasons, counts for something.

 

*  *  *

_Quantico._

Will looks over the files from the crime scene and closes the folder. The crime scene today was worse than the others. The victim was young, and he can’t stop seeing her crumpled form even now. He knows Jack saw him throw up afterwards, but he hadn’t said anything at the time.

Will rubs his eye sockets tiredly with his thumbs. He wants to go home, curl up with his dogs and never look at another dead body.

He heads to Jack’s office to drop off the folder and stops in the doorway at the sight of Hannibal in the room. Hannibal rises as Jack turns.

“Ah, Will, I was just coming to find you.”

“Here’s the file you were wanting.” Will hands it over. He doesn’t ask what Hannibal is doing there. It’s none of his business.

Jack takes it, nodding at him, “Hannibal, you remember Will.”

“Of course.” Hannibal nods at Will.

“Will teaches here as well as consulting on cases.” Jack flips through the case file.

“You must keep him very busy.” Hannibal comments.

“We try to.” Jack turns another page, frowning at something.

“If there’s nothing else,” Will hesitates, glancing at Hannibal again.

“Actually, I need you to stick around,” Jack hesitates, looking at Will, “Tell you what,” he turns to Hannibal, “Why don’t you take him for some coffee, get him out of the office for a little while, and then bring him back.”

“I don’t think,” Will starts, but Hannibal’s already nodding in agreement.

“I would be happy to.”

Jack draws Will aside as Hannibal collects his coat. “I still need you to go over the rest of the file.” He touches Will’s shoulder briefly. “Get some caffeine in you.”

“Fine.” Will heads out of the office.

*  *  *

Hannibal owns a different car than the one Will remembers. It’s unsurprising, given that it’s been ten years. He gives Hannibal directions to a coffee shop a few miles away and retreats into the passenger seat.

Will doesn’t say anything more. The girl’s body presses against the windowpane and he closes his eyes, keeping his face turned away as Hannibal drives.

*  *  *

“Well?” Hannibal says when they’re seated in a booth. “What was that about?”

“What?” Will says.

“Jack asking me to get you out of the office.” He studies Will, noting that he’s paler than the last time he saw him. Exhausted lines crease around his eyes, and there’s a tight, pinched quality to his face that concerns Hannibal.

“They found another body today.” Will says at last. “It wasn’t particularly pleasant.”

The waitress heads over to them.

“Coffee, please.” Will orders.

“The same.” Hannibal looks around the diner. He can feel Will watching him, knows that there are questions, but they must be allowed to drift towards the surface. Will has had this stew simmering within him for quite some time. The questions will come. Hannibal folds his hands together and waits.

The waitress returns with their coffee and leaves them alone once more.

“I understand you were in training to join the police force.”

“Keeping tabs after all I see.” Will leans back in his seat. There’s a crack along the edge of the table. He skims a thumbnail along it, picking at the vinyl. “Yeah, I thought I’d give it another shot, but…I’m still not really cop material.”

He’s aware of all the people around them. He chose the diner, but it’s backfiring. He looks down at the coffee, hand curled tight around the cup.

“So what are you then?”

“A consultant. Nothing more.”

“And a teacher, Jack said.”

“Yes.” Will pushes at his glasses. The body swings in front of his face, pale, bloated from the sea. He looks away. He can taste salt on his tongue.

“Tell me, how was the body found?” Hannibal notes the desperate, despairing tilt to Will’s head. He’s floundering here. This isn’t good for him.

 “Are we seriously discussing a murder scene?” Will takes a hasty sip of coffee, burning the salt away. It’s not terrible, but it’s not good either. He thinks of Hannibal’s coffee and knows he’s not the only one thinking this.

“Is there something else you would rather discuss?”

“Isn’t this the moment where you tell me to get on my knees and suck your dick, or,” Will trails off. He regrets the words as he sees the expression on Hannibal’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Hannibal flattens his tongue back in his mouth, repressing the words that are so very tempting to say. The things he would like to tell Will to do would fill the bookshelves in his study.

Instead he simply says, “It distresses you greatly to see the bodies.”

Will shifts in his seat, his fingers locking around the cup. He nods without looking at Hannibal, unable to believe what he just said.

“Then why do you persist?”

“Somebody has to.”

To Will’s surprise this brings a smile to Hannibal’s lips. “So persistent.” He reaches out, and then draws back without touching Will. “You never disappoint.”

“Give me time.” Will murmurs.

Hannibal’s smile is faint, but there. “What did you tell Jack Crawford?”

At that Will straightens up. “Is that why you came to see me?”

“It falls under the category of curiosity.”

“I looked Martin up a few months ago when I was thinking about coming back.” Will keeps his voice flat and even like he’s talking about the weather.  “He seems to have disappeared shortly after the time I left Baltimore. Would you know anything about that?”

“Would you want to know if I did?”

Will hesitates. They’re at an impasse. He wants to know, but if he learns anything more about Hannibal he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep it in.

“It was all made it up, wasn’t it? The murder charges. They were never really going to charge me for that client's death.” This is the question Will wished he had asked the other day, the question he’s wanted to ask for the last decade.

“That was never my intention, no.” Hannibal admits. “I merely wanted to see what you would do.”

Will relaxes, in spite of himself, in spite of Hannibal’s admission. Ten years and he finally knows what he’s always suspected. The blade hanging over his head is an illusion. He told Jack about his past, yes, but that didn’t mean the worry went completely away.

“Any other questions?”

"Not really. You gave me money so I could start over. I started over."

"By following the same path you started down before. By starting to train as a cop, and then coming back. What happened?" Hannibal truly wants to know.

“I…” Will stares at the table. Life happened, or more appropriately death happened. “I needed…”

"What do you need, Will?"

"I need…” Will stops, and then, “I need to stop thinking how it felt to lick your semen out of your carpet." He still remembers the brush of that carpet against his tongue.

Hannibal merely gazes at him. "Is that truly what you need?"  
  
"I need to pay you back. I still owe you that money."

"You only owe me one thing, Will," Hannibal's voice is gentle here. "And it's not the money. The money was a gift."

Will's hand presses against his thigh. He knows Hannibal sees this motion, but he can’t help it.

Hannibal had noticed the absence of the tie shortly after Will's departure that last morning. He had said nothing of it when he had made Will the offer. But of course he had noticed the tie’s absence. The thought of Will taking it had been a pleasure.

“What do you propose to do?”

“Jack knows. About my past.” Will pushes his glasses up. “I told him when I started profiling for the FBI, in case it came out.”

“Very noble of you.”

“Self-preservation.” Will’s tone is dry.

“And what of me?” Hannibal asks, curious.

“What of you?”

“What have you told Jack Crawford of me?”

“Nothing. You’re the one who knows him.” Will’s still confused about that.

“I see.” Hannibal sits back, contemplating this.

“I still owe you the money.” Will mutters.

 “No, you don’t.” Hannibal says again, almost gently. The money is nothing to him. He sees Will is going to argue this, and changes the subject. “What was it about today’s body that unsettled you?”

Will looks away.

“Tell me, Will.”

“It was a teenage girl.” Will sees the body again as he tells Hannibal how they found her. He presses his left hand flat upon the countertop to keep it from shaking. Hannibal notices of course. He notices everything.

“How’re the dreams?” He studies Will. “You still dream, don’t you?”

Will considers lying. He’s under no obligation to tell Hannibal anything. And yet it’s a relief to be asked to speak about them.

“About the same, off and on.”

“Does it still feel like you see death?” Hannibal asks the question perfectly seriously, which makes it so hard to refuse the answer. No one else knows this about Will, not quite like Hannibal does.

“Yes. I think so.” Will says. “Jack doesn’t know you pick up hookers, does he?”

“Interesting segue. No. He does not.” Hannibal waits.

The present tense lies between them.

Will doesn’t speak first. He’s not doing it this time, and then finally because he’s always wanted to know the answer to this too, “What do you do anyway?”

That earns him a laugh, and Will feels a peculiar coil of satisfaction in his chest. He can still make Hannibal laugh. It’s not his job any more. Not that making Hannibal laugh was ever his job. His neck feels tight and bare. Every time he looks at Hannibal, he remembers.

Will tugs at his collar, knowing the movement only draws more attention to his neck. He can’t help himself.

“I’m a partner in a business firm dealing in travel, airlines, hotels. That sort of thing.”

“That’s less confusing than I thought it would be.”

Hannibal smiles again. “We’ve expanded over the last few years, but I’m still mostly based out of Baltimore.” He doesn’t tell Will about the times he’s come close to visiting Mississippi.

“Is that why it was easy for you to get that voucher?”

“I could have gotten that for you regardless.”

“I know.” Will threads his fingers together. He knows that. He’s still seeking an explanation for that which makes sense. Something he can put it in the center of the room and point to. _This is why. This is why he did it. This is why I-…_ There is nothing. The center of the room stands empty. He has nothing to display.

Hannibal waits for him to say whatever he’s going to next.

“Have you killed anyone else since then?” Will says, because he might as well.

“Is that really what you want to ask?”

No. Yes. Will wants specifics, details, reasonable explanations. He wants to pretend none of this exists. He wants to go back to this morning when he woke with a hard-on and his hand down his shorts, dreaming of Hannibal.

“Why?” He asks. One question standing in for the myriad that he has.

“There is always a different reason for every death.”

“In particular.”

“In general.” Hannibal leans forward, and Will tenses, watching his forearms. “That’s what you realize when you examine the crime scene, isn’t it? Every killer wants something, that’s the similarity.”

“I don’t know why you,” Will says and stops because now Hannibal looks remote. He has explained this once before, told Will the why of it already. _I didn’t like the way he was touching you._ Was that really and truly it? Not the threat of murder, not any of that, just the fact that Hannibal didn’t like that the client hit him?

“You know I can’t even remember his face.” Will says. “It’s the strangest thing. You’d think that face I would remember. But it’s blurred as if the memory of him wasn’t important at all.”

“He wasn’t particularly memorable.” Hannibal says offhandedly.

“Not like you, no.” Will agrees.

“Me.” Hannibal looks inquisitive at that.

“Yes.” Will realizes what he’s said. Hannibal’s just gazing at him. He raises his mug, only to realize it’s empty.

Hannibal reaches for the pot, pouring him another cup. “What made you change your mind about coming back and working with Jack?”

Is it weird to admit that he’s missed this? Simply having someone interested in the workings of his mind without observing him strictly as a freak? When he joined Jack’s team Will had known he was exchanging one such status for another. This is different, but similar. This genuine curiosity Hannibal has in not viewing him as abnormal.

Of course, consider Hannibal for a moment.

“There was a body found in the water near where I worked. This young woman, in her early twenties. She’d been held under the water. It’s not just that it was death, but the way it was accepted. ‘The sea brought her to this,’ one guy said.” He pauses, looking at Hannibal. “It wasn’t the sea. Some _person_ took her life. That deserves to be recognized. She wasn’t meant to go like that. And I couldn’t stay near the water any more, have it blamed for that. What someone else had done. Drowning at sea, that’s the sea taking its toll. That woman hadn’t known the risk of taking a walk along the dock with somebody she met at a bar.”

He sighs. “Anyway, they questioned everybody working at the yard. During my interview, I made a few comments that got me on Jack’s radar. He wanted to talk to me. I told him to look for her shoes.”

“Shoes?” Hannibal repeats.

“They weren’t on her feet. The killer had taken them.”

“You were certain of this? They couldn’t have been just lost in the water?”

“No.” Will remembers.

“I see.” Hannibal considers this. “Were there any problems given your previous training, or lack thereof?”

“Not really. I’d told Jack what happened to the girl. He caught the guy, well the police caught the guy. He wasn’t…” _Someone like you, say it, test it, see how Hannibal reacts_. “… a serial killer. It was just some guy. Sometimes that’s harder for people to process. How can an ordinary person be capable of that?”

“The most mundane human is capable of violence.” Hannibal tells him.

“Yes.” Will murmurs. “I know that.” His face is unreadable for an instant and Hannibal sits back.

“Anyway, Jack wanted to know how I did it. I tried to explain, and afterward…he said I could go be a cop, if I wanted or I could come work for him. It was tempting to stay there…but it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”

“So you chose to help Jack.”

“Apparently he thinks I have something useful to impart.”

“Jack’s not alone in that.” Hannibal says, soft and certain. _Ask the question, Will. Ask what you truly desire to know._

Will looks around the diner, finally letting his gaze come to rest on Hannibal again. “What do you want?”

Hannibal smiles. That same smile that’s been in Will’s dreams whether he admits it or not. “I want what I’ve always wanted, Will. You.”

And there it is. What Will’s known. What he hasn’t even bothered hiding from himself. He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to take a final sip of coffee.   

“If I had known you were going to be at Jack’s office today, I’d have brought your dish back.”

Hannibal dismisses this as insignificant. “Next time will do just as well.”

 _Next time,_ Will thinks. What will next time entail? He’s different now. He’s the same. Hannibal is as inscrutable as ever, but if Will leaned across the table and offered himself to him now, Hannibal would take him. Will swallows, feeling the motion thick in his throat.

“It’s time I get you back to Jack.” Hannibal says. “If you’re ready.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Will stands.

Hannibal rises and takes out his wallet. “By the way, I’m having another dinner party this Friday. A very small affair, just a few people. Jack will be there, as well as your colleague Dr. Bloom. You should come.” He sets a ten down on the table.

“I already told you,” Will starts, but then stops. Maybe that’s what it will take. To face Hannibal in his own home and still refuse…whatever it is Hannibal is still offering him. To show that Will can handle him in that space.

“What time?"

“Seven o’clock.” Hannibal straightens his coat, and then leans in, his lips close to Will’s ear. “Wear the tie.”

With that he heads for the car first, leaving Will standing by the booth, uncertain and frustrated, and worst of all, half hard.

*  *  *

The drive back to Quantico passes in silence.

Will gets out of the car and hesitates, hand on the door. “Thank you.”

“Until Friday.” Hannibal tells him.

Will closes the door without answering.

*  *  *

In the end Will goes to dinner without any tie, a rebellion of some sort. He intends to say he’s lost the tie. He doesn’t know what happened to it. Anything but the truth that he’s kept it as a keepsake for the last ten years.

The house looks the same. Will stands in the driveway, gazing at it before finally walking up to the front door.  He presses the doorbell and waits, tension knotting his shoulders.

*  *  *

“Will,” Hannibal’s pleased to see him, but there is the little fact that Will’s not wearing the tie. From the way he’s comporting himself, body stiff and defensive as he walks into the entryway, Hannibal knows this is deliberate. He closes the door, considering. Will is only a breath away from his reach after all. All Hannibal has to do is touch him. He refrains for now, letting Will simmer a little longer.

‘A few people’ in Hannibal’s estimate is still more than Will cares for. He nods to Jack across the room and reaches for a glass of wine from the tray standing on the coffee table. He doesn’t know most of these people. He resists the urge to tug at his shirt collar.

“Hello, Will.”

He smiles at Alana Bloom as she comes over to him. Alana, at least, he’s relieved to know, is comfortable in his presence. One of the few individuals he’s encountered while working with Jack who doesn’t simultaneously make him feel like a freak and a failure.

“Dr. Bloom.”

She makes a wry face. “It’s after hours, please call me Alana.”

“Alana then.” Will watches her watch the room, observing people with that clear considering look she gives everything in life. “How do you know Hannibal?”

“Through Jack. He introduced us a few years ago at a benefit dinner.” She took a sip of wine. “You?”

“We met through work.” There, evading a lie. He licks his lips.

Alana glances at him. “I didn’t think this was the sort of thing you enjoyed. Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.”

“Of course.” Will murmurs.

“So what did Hannibal have to do to get you here? Blackmail you or something?”

“Something like that.” Will says. Hearing the name spoken aloud still feels unreal. She doesn’t know that he was ever in Baltimore before, doesn’t know anything about his past other than he’s once trained to be a cop. Will’s thought of telling her the bare bones of the truth. Alana at least wouldn’t judge him for it. He knows her well enough for that. But she would be kind.

He’s not sure he could bear that.

*  *  *

“Everyone, please.” Hannibal escorts them into the dining room.

Will takes a place at the far end of the table. It's the same one. Hannibal hasn't changed it. He takes a sip of water and lets himself breathe. Alana gives him a look across the table and he suppresses an nervous answering grin.

Dinner is exquisite. Hannibal’s cooking far surpasses those meals in Will’s memories, which is not an easy thing to do. He gets a flash of déjà vu, him eating at this table before, skin hot and uncomfortable, desire worming its way through him.

Hannibal picks up his knife and slices cleanly through the slender cut of pork. Will’s hands press tight into his legs. He’s aware of people and conversation around him, but the room narrows and there’s only him and the table and Hannibal and that knife. That knife that Will remembers the feel of. The table underneath his stomach, cool air on the back of his legs as Hannibal leans over him. The clear cool press of the knife, his own spit easing the way inside him.

Will blinks and looks at Hannibal, who gazes back at him over his wine. Is he remembering the same thing?

“This is amazing.” Jack murmurs, swallowing his mouthful.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself,” Another guest chimes in.

Will tugs at his collar, too tight even with no tie. Hannibal eyes him across the length of the table, tracking the motion. Will’s tongue flutters convulsively in his throat, suddenly dry. He reaches for his water, spilling it across the tablecloth in the process.

“Excuse me.” Will escapes into the kitchen. He draws a breath, but he still can’t _breathe_. What was he thinking by doing this? He shouldn’t be here. Why did he ever think he could enter this house again?

“Will?”

He turns. Hannibal’s in the doorway.

“You didn’t have to leave your guests. I’m fine.” His knuckles bite into the counter. Hannibal’s still moving towards him.

“You’re my guest too, Will.”

Will blinks, unable to look away. “When you say it like that, it makes me feel unsteady.”

“How exactly?” Hannibal inquires.

Will swallows. “Like you’re thinking about kissing me.” He hears the implication in the words, light as air on the tip of Hannibal’s tongue. A promise, dangerous and enticing.

“Perhaps I am.” Hannibal’s fingers are on his neck, tracing the veins of his throat. Fingertips caressing his jawline; Will shivers.

“Don’t.” Will whispers. If Hannibal kisses him now…

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t belong to you.” His voice roughens.

He turns his head, but Hannibal leans in, resting his fingers on Will’s cheek. “Are you certain of that?” His breath curls over Will’s cheek. Sweat dances down Will’s spine. If he gives in to this... Everything is if’s at the moment. If he does this, if Hannibal does that. Will’s sick of it. He can’t. He won’t.

“Yes,” he says, and pulls away, fleeing the kitchen before Hannibal can try to stop him.

He doesn’t bother saying goodbye to Alana or Jack. He simply finds his coat and leaves amidst the cloud of memories lingering in the hallway.

Hannibal realizes this when he returns to the table and Will’s place is still empty. He had though perhaps Will would retreat to the bathroom, or even the study, but apparently not.

“Where’s Will?” Alana asks as Hannibal takes his seat.

“I’m afraid he wasn’t feeling very well.”

“Oh, no.”

Hannibal nods, leaning in to rejoin the conversation. In his mind he sees again the way Will looked when Hannibal asked him.

_Are you certain of that?_

Will’s eyes never could lie, even if his tongue can manage it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last time I try to plan an official update. This chapter was meant to be posted at Christmas, and then at New Year's, but real life stuff has prevented that. At last it's up! 
> 
> Enjoy! Happy belated New Year!

Will drives away fast from the house, tires screeching on the winter roads. Away from Hannibal, away from the petrifying desire half threatening to overtake him. He’d stood in that kitchen again, stood so close to Hannibal they had nearly kissed. He _remembers_ how Hannibal kisses. It would have been so easy to step forward into that fate.

He couldn’t do it. He _can’t._ If he gives in to that, there’s no turning back.

Will drives faster, resisting the urge to look in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Hannibal bids his guests farewell as they take their leave one by one. Jack lingers a moment after the others, taking his time with his coat.

“Are you sure Will was all right when he left?” Jack buttons up his coat. “He seemed a little…”

“I think the current case is weighing on him more than he wants to admit.” Hannibal says at last. “When we went for coffee, it was less of a distraction than I hoped for.”

Jack’s frown deepens.

“But I think after a good night’s rest, he will feel much better.” Hannibal adds.

“I can only hope.” Jack sighs. “I need him to be on his best game to help me solve this one.”

Hannibal watches him to the car before he closes the front door.

He finishes clearing the table and rinses the dishes, watching the remnants of the sauce wash away down the sink.

When the dishes are done Hannibal retires to his study. The fire is crackling in the grate. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes it over to the ladder. There at the foot of it, he imagines he can still see the faint stain that remained there for years before he finally had the carpet cleaned.

The glass is cool upon his lips, the wine sweet and he thinks of Will looking at him in anticipation.

_Like you’re thinking of kissing me._

Oh, but he had been. He’d been thinking of a great many things.

* * *

Will pulls into the driveway. His hands shake slightly as he turns off the ignition. He sits there, gazing at the dark windows of his house. He’d forgotten to leave any lights on. It seems distinctly unwelcoming, a distant abyss.

 _Focus_. _Breathe_. He can get through this. But to do that requires a decision. The next step, whatever that step is in the end, must be thought out carefully before he acts.

There are two ways to play this – The first as though he’s never met Hannibal Lecter before, never touched any part of his body with hands and mouth and tongue. To play the stranger when they meet next in public and in private. To never again venture across Hannibal’s threshold, like that time in the kitchen when he first sensed the danger. It seems so long ago, and so close both at once. He can’t take that risk again. The last time he didn’t know what he was getting into. Now he knows all too well.

Will takes a deep breath. He can feel the cold air settling into the car around him. He should get out and go inside.

The past feels as though it belongs to someone else. Some young kid who got desperate and didn’t know what to do, so he did _that_. There isn’t any shame in it. There’s nothing wrong with being a sex worker. Will knows this. But the way in which it was handled shadows him still. Memories flicker. Faces he doesn’t really remember trail past him in an endless foggy parade. _Martin_. There’s a name he hasn’t thought of in years, not before he started to seriously consider coming back. Martin was not good to work for. That part Will regrets.

Then there is the other way – to give in. He’d so nearly done it tonight. To do that would open a door to a world, a world where Hannibal will consume him.

He exhales and climbs out of the car. The dogs are waiting for him, whining at the door. He can pretend that nothing happened tonight, but there’s the proximity of Hannibal in the kitchen, how he came after Will when he left the table. That happened and Will can’t ignore it, not now. He’d hoped, naively and in vain, that Hannibal would respect the lessened distance between them now that he was back.

He should have known better.

* * *

Will feeds the dogs and watches them eat. Dogs are easy. He’d found the first one waiting on his doorstep when he moved into this house. A grubby pawed, hopeful-eyed hungry little thing. He’d let that one into his home and that was the end of it. Now here they all are. He’s making up for lost time and Will knows it. His dad had always said they would have a dog when he was little, but they’d never had any money for a pet.

Will leaves the dogs in the kitchen and goes to the living room. Once the lights are on he feels a little better, but not much. He’s restless, unable to settle anywhere. He moves around the room, twitching the closed curtains open, looking out at the night. There’s no one out there that he can see. If Hannibal’s pursuing him tonight he’s taking his time.

Will’s had sex with a handful of people in the last ten years. Nothing spectacular, nothing terrible, just sex. Nothing that made him feel like Hannibal did. Nothing that left him aching for more.

Nothing that left him scarred either.

Tonight his skin feels hot all over, like Hannibal’s in his head again, whispering to him. In his dreams. In his waking hours. In his head. There’s nothing but the oppressive darkness reaching out to wrap its arms around him. Now that he’s seen Hannibal, it all comes rushing back.

There’s no escape from Hannibal even in his own mind so Will gives in. He sinks down upon his couch, staring at the ceiling, but not seeing it. He picks and chooses memories from that weekend to remember. Things he hasn’t let himself think of directly in years. Hannibal laying him out on the table, the cool silver handled knife. That first time he stripped down in Hannibal’s study. The cool appraising touch of Hannibal’s fingertips. Lying on the floor of Hannibal’s bathroom, naked and shivering.

Will closes his eyes.

He has a decision to make, and eventually Hannibal will force him to choose. He has no illusion about that. For now he sits there alone in his living room, watching the night through the curtains.

* * *

Hannibal doesn’t come for him in the night as Will anticipates. Instead he waits until the respectable hour of eight am in the morning before he shows up on Will’s doorstep.

Will rises from the bed, limbs groggy with slumber, eyes crusted with sleep. He’s forgotten that he expected Hannibal to show up. He goes into the bathroom and relieves himself, eyelids barely open. In the mirror his face is lined with poor sleep and uneasy dreams.

He’s at the top of the stairs when the doorbell rings. Will pauses, fingers gripping the bannister.

He’s known this moment would come ever since he left the dinner party last night. But it’s been waiting longer than that. He’s known it since the first night he walked out of Hannibal’s house, clutching at his chance of escape. The doorbell remains silent after that first jarring warning ring. There’s no need. Hannibal knows he’s there. The longer he delays this, the longer it will be drawn out.

Will walks down the stairs and reaches the door. Through the glass he can see Hannibal’s outline. This is real. This is happening. This is the present. Will unfastens the lock and turns the doorknob.

It’s too early for this. Hannibal looks as though he’s been awake and alert for hours. When does he sleep? Will thinks of closing the door and running for it. Is it too late to pull back now? His dogs watch him, confused by his hesitation.

Hannibal gazes at him in silence. Will remembers then, the little he’s wearing. A dull flush overtakes his neck as Hannibal surveys him. From the tips of Will’s bare toes to his tanned thighs, (Hannibal’s intrigued at the notion of Will in blue jean cutoffs, working on a boat engine in the hot afternoon sun, grease permeating his skin) to his thin shorts, a plain gray t-shirt, and then Will himself – unshaven, with wary, expectant eyes.

They both know what will happen now. If Will denies it, he’s incapable of recognizing the inevitable.

His eyes linger on the scar. His scar on Will’s skin. Hannibal gazes at it and Will’s fingers twitch, resisting the urge to cover it with his fingers.

Hannibal places a broad gloved hand on the door frame, pushing it all the way open. Will doesn’t move away and Hannibal reaches down to traces the scar with the tip of his glove. He can hear the rapid pace of Will’s heart, the pulsing in his bare throat. Hannibal has his scent now. Oh, how very long has he waited for this. His fingers press into the scar, leather and skin. Will shivers. Hannibal raises his other hand to touch Will’s neck. There’s something missing here and they both know it.

Hannibal leans in watching as Will holds himself still. His lips are there, waiting, still and breathless.

“Put it on.”

Will draws back then, looking at him.

“Go on.” Hannibal directs gently. Will goes back up the stairs. His feet travel as though in a dream, steadily onward. They know each step of the course set before them.

In his bedroom he crouches before the closet door, reaching for the box he placed at the very back. It’s been too long. The scent has faded from the tie. But in Will’s memory it remains as strong as ever. When he places the tie around his neck stillness descends around him. He can breathe once again.

* * *

Hannibal stands in the middle of the living room, looking out over the snow-speckled grass. This location is not ideal. He prefers to have Will in his own territory within his boundaries. But here’s Will surrounded by his own past and present – the life he came back from, the life he couldn’t stay away from. They are entwined and wound together like slender threads that make up the confusing, fascinating tapestry of Will’s life. A tapestry that Hannibal wants to put on display in his own home where it belongs.

He takes a bag from his coat pocket and draws the dogs into the kitchen. They nose eagerly at his offering of homemade jerky. Hannibal closes the door and smiles. That will keep them busy for a while.

He turns at the sound of Will’s returning footsteps.

“Come here.” Hannibal says. Will goes to him without speaking. It seems like he’s always answered Hannibal. There’s been no time lapse, no excuses between them. There is only here and now.

The tie rests around Will’s neck. The left corner of Hannibal’s lips reveals his satisfaction at the sight. The tie looks incongruous against the t-shirt, but it suits the situation in its own peculiar way. Next he turns his attention to Will’s lower half.

As he stands there Will's hands raise to cover his crotch. It's been so long since anyone saw him like this. Nobody's ever truly seen him except Hannibal, but it’s still embarrassing to be revealed.

Hannibal reaches out, moving his hands aside. He studies the soft outline at the front of Will's shorts a moment before cupping his limp genitals. His fingers are gentle, assessing. Will's fingers tighten and flex at his side. He's looking anywhere but at Hannibal. Hannibal’s glove skims next over his thigh, once more caressing the scar, before moving upward over his crotch again. Will sucks in a breath as Hannibal dips his gloved fingers inside his shorts.

He still doesn’t look at Hannibal, his throat tightening. Slowly Hannibal draws his cock out of his shorts, letting him dangle. Hannibal reaches up to pull at the tie then, pulling Will forward slightly. The movement causes his cock to brush Hannibal's thigh. Warmth coils up Will’s groin.

"Will." Hannibal whispers. "Look at me."

Finally Will raises his eyes.

Hannibal shortens the distance between them, drawing the tie in until Will's lips are a mere breath away. At this proximity there is nowhere to hide. Will sees himself in the dark heart of Hannibal’s eyes and knows he’s lost – drowning in the chasm opening before him.

Hannibal's lips close upon his.

 * * *

The first time Hannibal cooked – truly cooked – he composed a sauce that elevated the dish beyond its humble origins. Thyme, black pepper and ginger simmering in red wine, tangy as time and sweet as possibility. He had savored every mouthful, pleased with the results of his cooking.

For years the memory of that dish was revered in his personal files.

This kiss surpasses every second of that memory.

 * * *

Will shudders as Hannibal’s tongue twines around his, stealing his breath. No, that’s wrong. It’s like he’s able to breathe again. For the first time in ten years. There’s winter on Hannibal’s breath and Will’s frozen in this moment, tasting the cold and the spice of wine. The warmth is spreading throughout his body – expanding over his skin.

Hannibal’s glove closes around his cock. “Have you had sex since then, Will?”

“Don’t you mean who and how much?” Will says. He hasn’t lost his tongue. Hannibal’s heart warms. It’s like no time has passed at all.

Hannibal’s glove tightens. “Did I tell you to be flippant?”

“No.”

“Then answer my question.”

“Always so polite.” Will dares and Hannibal’s leather grip tightens even more. “If I come in your glove won’t you just be pissed?” That’s just the sort of thing Hannibal would have punished him for before. His arousal grows at the thought.

Hannibal doesn’t even blink at him. “What makes you think you get to come at all?” He runs his forefinger along Will’s length. He has waited so long to touch Will again. The years fall away and here they are right where they belong.

“It’s been ten years.” Will says weakly. Surely that means something. He’s coming alive in Hannibal’s palm. His body stirring into wakefulness, eager to be touched.

Hannibal’s eyebrows lift.

“Since you and me.” Will clarifies. “Not since…” He looks elsewhere over Hannibal’s shoulder. “A couple times. With people passing through town. No one who would stay and want more.”

Hannibal slips a finger under his cock, pressing almost painfully. “And?”

Will’s breath hitches. “Nothing memorable. Nothing terrible. I didn’t want it all that often, and when I did,” Hannibal’s fingertip eases between his cheeks. Will shifts his stance slightly. The tie sways lightly around his neck.

“And?” Hannibal prompts, easing his finger further.

“I only wanted release in the end. It would have been easier to just get myself off.”

That’s the truth and yet not all of it. He’s concealing something. Hannibal has time. For now he’s content to drag this out. He pushes the pad of his glove against Will’s hole, feeling the heat there.

“Take off your shorts.”

Will’s hands hesitate, curling into tight fists at his side. “Or what?”

Was he always this insolent? Hannibal’s uncertain. He knows Will’s tongue was quick in the day, he remembers it well, but time, time has not damped Will’s fire. Inwardly Hannibal is delighted by this.

“Or I won’t allow you to find that release.”

“I thought I didn’t get to come.” Will whispers. The tip of the glove nudges inside. His cock presses damply at the front of his shorts, his tongue’s dry in his mouth.

“When was the last time I failed to give you that what you wanted?” Hannibal breathes. He wants to kiss Will again but this time he wants Will to beg for the touch of his mouth first.

Will looks up at him, lips parted slightly and Hannibal’s finger presses further, watching Will try to control his reaction. The burn is exquisite and Hannibal prolongs it, savoring his expression.

“Never.” Will manages.

“Then do as I say.” Hannibal’s other hand brushes over his hair. “And I will give you everything you desire.”

He removes his glove, enjoying the slight wince of Will’s frame.

Will hesitates, still, and then finally reaches down to remove his shorts. He drops them to the floor and waits.

Will’s cock is stiff with blood. Hannibal strokes his length again, feeling the life there. He winds the tie around his fingers, slowly, watching the rise and fall of the swallow of Will’s throat.

“All this time.” Will murmurs. “You knew I had it.”

“Of course.” Hannibal says. His thumb drifts over the hollow, feeling the pulse of Will. “I knew you would keep it safe, and remembered.”

Will’s legs weaken at his touch. He doesn’t look down, nor away. There is nowhere else to look. Hannibal is everywhere. Hannibal’s eyes draw him endlessly. Hannibal loops his fingers through the tie, pulling Will in again.

"How do you feel?"

"Inevitable." Will murmurs.

Hannibal's other hand cups his jaw, running a thumb over Will's stubble.

He knows Hannibal has killed and gotten away with it. The veneer of civility is not just a cover but a shadow that can be thrown back at any time. There's no motive that he can see, which makes Hannibal truly dangerous in more ways than one.  
  
This though, the danger Will feels here is different.

* * *

Hannibal curls the tie point around his forefinger, winding it up slowly. Each motion pulls tighter at Will’s neck.

 _I can’t do this_ , Will thinks, but impossibly he is. He bends forward, following the silent command of the tie as Hannibal draws him down onto the floor.

He gazes at Hannibal’s trousers, nice gray material. Still more expensive than Will would ever consider worth spending on clothes. know. Closing his eyes he leans forward, touching his lips to the front of trousers. Hannibal’s hands are in his hair and Will wants to stay here, even though his knees are cold on the floor. He exhales and feels Hannibal press against him.

“Will.” Hannibal tugs his hair slightly, and he looks up reluctantly. “Not just yet.”

Instead Hannibal tugs him over to the couch, a plaid throw covered in dog hair tossed over the back of it. He sits, drawing Will down in front of him between his legs.

“Do you remember?” Hannibal cups his cheek.

Will’s eyes close at the memory. He’s on his knees on Hannibal’s couch, fucking himself on Hannibal’s cock, breathless, slick, heated – endlessly caught in that moment. He hears Hannibal’s voice. It’s not in the past. It’s now.

“You know what I want you to do.”

Will opens his eyes. “Yes.”

He kneels on the couch, straddling Hannibal’s thighs. Hannibal’s coat chafes against his own bare thighs. Hannibal’s gloved hand encircles his cock once again. Will’s at a loss as what to do with his hands. He wants to touch Hannibal, but there’s still something holding him back.

“Tell me, Will. What you thought of, those nights you spent alone in Biloxi, in need of release?” Hannibal’s fingertips rub at him.

There is no escape. There has never been a chance of it. Will wants to close his eyes again, but knows Hannibal will know why. Why he wants to go on pretending this isn’t happening. Why he’s spent so long already denying it.

“Tell me.” Hannibal whispers.

“I thought of a lot of things.” Will begins.

The glove strokes him. It burns a little smoothly on his cock.

“I thought of the way sex had always been about money for me, and power for most of my clients.”

Another stroke. He steels himself against thrusting into that warm grip. He will not come until Hannibal forces him to.

“Mostly I thought of you.” His hands finally grip the back of the couch, one on either side of Hannibal’s head, as he slowly jerks Will off.

“Tell me.” Hannibal feels the length of Will.

“Sometimes, I’d jerk off, thinking about you biting me.”

Hannibal waits.

“I would press my hand hot against the scar, until it ached, and burned, and fist my cock. When I moved it hard enough, I could remember how your teeth felt on my skin.” He gazes at Hannibal. “Not consciously, rarely intentional. You crept into my dreams like a disease.” His hips stuttered, pausing as Hannibal strokes his balls with his left hand before slipping it around to cup Will’s ass. “My subconscious failed me.”

“Go on.”

Will remembers. “I’d walk past a restaurant, catch some scent on the air, rosemary or tarragon, and there I would be, back in your kitchen, going down on you. A feast of a memory.” He would take himself in hand, jerking off in his sleep and then wake in the morning, rested.

“Still the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.” He murmurs. “After I’ve dreamed about you.”

Hannibal’s fingers slip between his cheeks. He’s broached, invaded, caressed from both sides. At last Will’s hips buck into the fist holding him, even as he wants to thrust back against the finger curling inside him. It hurts, it’s perfect. He gasps and looks at Hannibal right in the eyes. Will’s mesmerized, trapped in Hannibal’s gaze as they draw him in deeper and deeper.

“Even my nightmares are better when they’re about you.” Hannibal’s lips, curving upward towards him. It would be so easy to kiss him.

Hannibal continues to gaze at him and Will feels his orgasm spilling out of him, over Hannibal’s fingers as he continues milking Will’s cock. That face, always in his mind, that curious slight smile that he remembers so well. Will knows the contours of Hannibal’s face better than he knows his own. And he knows too that Hannibal’s pleased.

He leans in, cock still clasped in Hannibal’s grip, and kisses him full on the mouth. Hannibal’s still, silent, waiting, and when Will’s tongue slips across his lips, he takes it between his teeth. Will leans inward, a fish caught on a hook, Hannibal reeling him in. Hannibal grips Will by the hips, holding him, and then Will’s hands cup his face.

Hannibal tastes like winter, the cutting blend spice of wine and desire. Will falls deeper into the kiss, pressing his body against Hannibal. He can steal this moment, he can make it last. Hannibal’s tongue twines around his, and then, “Will.”

“Yes?”

How he loves this, Will answering him, Will, physical and real, here in his arms. He’s not a boy any longer. Hannibal has ideas of how the years have passed, but you can only truly tell how a person has changed once you’ve tested them.

“Where do you keep your lubricant?”

“I…” Will wants to say he doesn’t have any. That might work, but Hannibal’s inventive.

“Upstairs in my bedroom.”

“Go and get it out, then wait for me in your bedroom.” He tugs on the tie, drawing Will in for another kiss. “Leave this on.”

 *  *  *

He watches Will leave the room, and then surveys the living room once more. It will have to do. He makes sure the front door is locked before he checks on the dogs as well. They whine at him, hoping for more treats. They’re unsure of his presence, but not threatened by it. Hannibal stops to let the boldest sniff his hand. They will have to grow accustomed to him. Hannibal intends to be around.

He delays a moment longer, letting Will anticipate his entrance. Will, he’s holding back even with the surrender of that kiss – willing but hesitant, wanting but fearful.

Hannibal can wait. He has time.

At last he walks upstairs, relishing his own anticipation of what awaits. Hannibal stops in the doorway of the bedroom. Will’s standing near the end of the bed, arms tightly folded into his chest. In the middle of the bed is the tube of lubricant.

He turns to face Hannibal, eyes drawn to the gloves Hannibal’s still wearing. It is about power. Will’s not wrong about that, but it’s also about more. The thrill that spirals through Hannibal when he’s around Will, that is unparalleled. The goal of that original weekend returns to him. If he eats Will, he can never leave again.

“What’re you waiting for?” Will breaks the silence. He’s apprehensive now too, nerves returning in spite of his earlier orgasm.

“Take off your shirt.” Hannibal says as an answer.

Will does, pulling it up over his head, leaving the tie hanging against his bare chest. He drops the t-shirt on the floor.

Hannibal nods to the bed. “Lie down upon your bed.” He takes up Will’s discarded shirt. “Put your hands above your head.”

“What’re you going to do?” Will has a pretty good idea but he has to ask.

“Lie down and see.” Hannibal waits. He wants to make sure he has Will exactly where he wants him to be before he makes his next move.

Will obeys at last. The tube shifts, bumping into his knee as he stretches out on the bed. Slowly he lies back and raises his hands. Hannibal ties his wrists to the frame with the t–shirt. They’re still thin, no matter how much time has passed. His fingers brush over the fine lines of Will’s right wrist. Then Hannibal sits back on the bed beside him. This is how it should be: Will, naked and bound, waiting for Hannibal to do whatever he wants with him. Will, who came back.

He smiles, enjoying the way Will tenses. “Are you afraid, Will?” He wants the truth. He wants Will to possess that same truthful tongue as ever, unfettered even by his will to survive.

“Yes.” Will’s shoulders hunch pulling at the t-shirt binding him. “I’d be an idiot not to be.”

Here he is, once again, and this time he knows what he’s getting into. He walked into this trap willingly. Didn’t he? What does that mean?

“What are you afraid of?”

“What do you think?”

Hannibal just sits there, waiting in his coat, his hands clasped in his lap. His hands encased in his gloves. Will feels a familiar flush in his cheeks. He still aches slightly where the gloves pressed into him. Hannibal will wear those gloves for the rest of the winter and every time he looks at them…

“I would like you to tell me.” Hannibal places a hand on Will’s left ankle, just touching him.

“I’m afraid…I’ll slip. That I’m in too deep, I’m already drowning. That this is all there is for me, no matter where I try to turn. And this time you won’t let me go.”

Hannibal considers this as he leans in closer, smelling the delicious aroma that is Will here in this instant – sweat and sex and fear and want and most importantly, surrender.

“Do you want to be let go?” His lips brush the tip of Will’s earlobe.

“I don’t know.” Will waits, the breath of Hannibal passing over his cheek. If he turns his head he could catch Hannibal’s lips.

There’s the truth in all its unvarnished grandeur. As always, it’s not precisely what Hannibal wants, but he’s pleased nonetheless. He grasps Will’s jaw with gloved fingers and turns his head to face him. Will gazes up at him, clear-eyed and expectant, waiting to see what Hannibal would do next. He flexes his fingertips over the curve of Will’s cheek and thinks how much he loves the feel of Will’s skin. The sight of his tie around Will’s neck, lying between his nipples.

“Very good.” Hannibal sits back.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re ready.”

Hannibal brushes his glove over Will’s tense stomach, and then he stands up.

“What’re you doing?” Will stares up at him. He watches Hannibal all the way to the door. “You’re not seriously leaving me here. Hannibal?”

Hannibal turns at the doorway. “Next time you’ll come to me.”

His footsteps recede down the stairs and Will is left alone.

* * *

Will lies there still bound to his bed, half in shock until the sound of the front closes. “Hannibal?”

There’s no answer.

Will wiggles out of the t-shirt and sits up. He’s truly alone. Hannibal actually left him there. He still can’t believe it. And now here he is, once again, with a dilemma. What is he to do?

He takes a hot shower, waking himself from the sweat Hannibal left him in. Does he really believe Will will actually go to him?

 Will stands under the spray, breathing in the steam. There is no real explanation for any of this. He’s no safer here than anywhere else. If he left Baltimore this time, Hannibal would come after him.

He wonders if Hannibal still keeps his bedroom the same. He wonders how long it will be before he finds out.

* * *

Will takes the dogs for a long walk. It snowed again last night. Their paw prints scatter across the fresh snow in their eagerness. Will huffs a breath and gazes across the expanse of cold winter space.

When he gets back inside there’s a message on his answering machine. It’s from Jack.

He’d almost forgotten the current case. There’s still work to do. It’s not all him trying to figure out what to do with Hannibal. He gets dressed and heads out.

* * *

Will’s standing in a snowy field, gazing down at another body. All he can feel is Hannibal’s hand, tightening around his throat, pulling on the tie, drawing him back. The decision chokes at him still. What is he supposed to do?

“Will.” Jack says sharply and he looks up.

“How do you really know Hannibal?”

Jack throws him a curious look. “What brought that up?” He glances back at the body. They’re in the middle of working on a case. There’s an eviscerated corpse in front of them.

“I know there’s something.” Will pushes his glasses up.

Jack hesitates. “Why don’t you tell me about the situation here?” He’s putting him off, but Will goes along with it for now.

“He was killed by someone who knows him. Someone who didn’t expect the intimacy of the blade when it ate into his heart.” Will pauses. “He let the killer get close because he trusted him, before the killer carved him up.”

Jack sighs. “Ever wish you had followed that third grade dream and been an archeologist instead?”

* * *

They’re back in the car before Jack speaks again. “I shouldn’t really be telling you this.”

Will waits, warming his hands over the car heater. If he waits long enough, Jack will confess the secret. It’s pressing at him like a knife-point.

“It was a case many years ago…someone very close to Hannibal was murdered.” Jack’s hands bunch on the steering wheel, remembering the frustration over the futility of that case. How he’s always appreciated that Hannibal didn’t blame him for the failure to apprehend the killer. No matter how many years pass Jack still blames himself enough.

“I see.” He does, and he doesn’t. Apparently he will have to go back to Hannibal for the full story anyway. Now he has a reason to speak with Hannibal that isn't manufactured in any way. That should be enough. But if he goes to Hannibal with any reason at all Hannibal will still take it for what it is, a step into his world.

“You should talk to Hannibal if you want to hear all of it.” Jack sighs. “That’s all I can tell you.” He sets his foot to the accelerator and they pull away from the field.

 * * *

The temperature drops that evening. After dinner Hannibal lights a fire in the grate and sets out his brandy. He has some reading to get done before he goes into the office tomorrow.

There is a knock at his door just as he reaches for the brandy. Hannibal smiles as he goes to answer it.

When he pulls the door open Will has one foot on the porch, one foot off as though he were thinking of leaving.

“Good evening, Will.”

“Evening.” Will steps back on the porch.

“Did you come for dinner?” It's long past dinner and they both know it.

“Not this time.” Will tells him. He wipes his palms on his jeans.

Hannibal inclines his head curiously, waiting to hear his reason for being there. Will hesitates, looking over his shoulder again. The curve of his throat whets Hannibal’s appetite.

“Something to drink then.” Hannibal leads him to the study. “I was about to have some brandy.”

Will watches him as he gets out a second glass and pours. When Hannibal hands his glass to him, he smiles at Will and Will only just catches himself from smiling back.

“Please have a seat.” Hannibal turns to stand by the fire, surveying his brandy.

Will does so. He takes a sip, watching the light of the flames flicker. “Tell me something.”

“What is it you would like to know?” Hannibal looks over at him.

“What was the murder case that first brought you and Jack together?”

A stillness settles over Hannibal’s features. He takes a long sip of brandy. “That’s what brought you here tonight?”

“Among other things.” Will murmurs. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask Hannibal about his past. Even if he had, Hannibal never would have told him. Now he waits for Hannibal to refuse to tell him. Then whatever happens next happens.

When Hannibal speaks again, his voice is low, bringing the past to the forefront, painfully and quietly.

“When I was a boy my younger sister was taken. The case dragged on for months and months with little development. It was presumed she was murdered soon after her abduction.”

Of all the things Will had expected, this isn’t one of them. When Hannibal falls silent, he asks, “What did you believe?”

“I believed she was dead as well. I wanted to know who was responsible. As a young detective assigned the case, Jack and I shared that desire in common. We also shared the weight of blame from my family. They blamed him for not finding the killer, and they blamed me for letting her be taken in the first place.”

“How could you have stopped it?” Will leans forward, cradling his brandy between his knees. “You were a kid. Even if you had been an adult...”

“Grief is not rational in its blame or its weight.” Hannibal considers the glass of brandy in his hand. “It was a long time before I could speak to my family without resentment. Even now there is bitterness.” He raises his eyes to meet Will’s.

“But you don’t blame Jack.” Will clarifies, curious about this. It’s a common tendency of the family to blame the detectives on a case when a missing family isn’t recovered.

“No.” Hannibal agrees. “Quite the contrary.” He takes another sip, and Will begins to understand.

He sets his glass down and goes to stand in front of the fire as well. “What happened then?”

”For years we didn’t know who killed her. During the duration of the case Jack and I struck up an acquaintance that developed into a friendship. Over the years he kept returning to the case. And then,” Hannibal turns his attention back to the flames, watching them flutter steadily in the grate. “He stumbled upon a piece of information that he shared with me over dinner one night. One small clue that had been overlooked while the case was open. Ultimately it failed to aid him in the direction he desired.” He stops there.

That’s not the end. The knowledge of this sinks in Will’s gut like a stone. He waits, aware of how close he and Hannibal are standing.

Hannibal turns his head to look at him. “It led me straight to the killer.”

Will’s skin prickles. Hannibal had left it there on purpose, daring him to ask. “And then what happened?”

Hannibal moves closer. “What do you think?”

“What happened with Jack?”

Hannibal looks at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Did you tell him? That you found the killer?” He already knows the answer to this. Why is even he asking? “What did you do?” Will whispers.

“What do you think?” Hannibal leans closer to him.

His teeth are so close. Will’s dreamed about Hannibal’s teeth more than anything else but like all his dreams they were coated in rich shadow. The scent of Hannibal’s house haunts his nights and he often wakes thinking he’s back there, wrapped in the velvet silence of those rooms.

“I think you killed him.” Will tells him, already knowing he’s right.

Hannibal simply smiles. He takes a sip of brandy and then places his glass on the mantle. He turns inward, stepping into Will’s space. His hand slips over Will’s thigh, touching his scar through his jeans.

“You’re correct. I killed him, and then disposed of the body. Jack Crawford continues to think the case is unsolved. That part I regret.” His other hand curves around the back of Will’s neck. “Do you know what the best part was?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me.” If Hannibal moves his hand upward from his thigh he’ll have Will in his hand.

“I ate his heart.” Hannibal tugs his head back as he kisses Will’s upturned mouth, letting the air breathe over their lips.

Will remembers. He will always remember. That weekend. Looking into Hannibal’s eyes and seeing a wealth of possibility within.

Hannibal draws back, his teeth grazing over Will’s lower lip. “Do you trust me, Will?”

“That’s a strange question for a man who left me tied to a bed last week.”

Hannibal traces the scar on his thigh. Will’s thighs fall open to him. His nails brush over Will’s neck.

“Yes.” Will says. “Here and now I trust you.”

Hannibal’s eyes gleam. “And otherwise?”

“And otherwise I’m unsure of how safe I’d be in some scenarios.”

“I see.”

How long has he been here? He needs to check on his dogs. He tries to start pulling away. Hannibal’s watching him.

“I take it, I am allowed to leave.”

“That depends.”

“On…” Will breathes. Hannibal’s nails skim over the back of his neck making his skin tingle.

“Are you coming back?”

Will looks straight at him and Hannibal kisses him again. His hand tightens around the back of Will’s neck. Hannibal’s scent overwhelms him, his tongue in Will’s mouth. Will leans against him. His kiss is all the answer Hannibal needs.

In the end Hannibal is the one who pulls away. He rests his forehead against Will’s for a brief moment.

“Go, Will.” He murmurs. “I’ll be here.”

“Right,” Will licks his lips. “Right.” He pats his pockets, checking them absently for what, he doesn't know and goes.

*  *  *

He drives back through the night to Wolf Trap. It’s the same evening, but it feels as though it’s been days. How has he lost time with Hannibal already? How can he let himself do that at all?

He gets home, gets inside the house and the relevance of what happened hits him.

Will stands there by his front door, just looking around him. It’s real. He is in this time. This is happening and he can smell Hannibal on his skin, taste him on his tongue.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham finds himself at the crossroads that's been a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone reading from the beginning, thank you so much for sticking with this story. To all the readers just discovering it, I hope you enjoy!

_Ten years ago_

_Hannibal isn’t exactly certain what makes him do it, save that he hates loose ends. He stores the zip-locked packages at the very back of his freezer, carefully labeled of course. They’ll be there if he ever needs them. While it may be foolish to think like this, he hopes that wherever Will is, he sleeps a little better now that Martin is no longer in this world. Will doesn’t know this yet, naturally, but one day, perhaps he will. Hannibal remains optimistic._

_Above all else, he is patient._

* * *

_Now_

Will’s skin is warm, too warm even for him. He’s reclining in a bath, the water lapping at his thighs, submerging them. There are hands on his thighs, holding him in the water. They slip underneath to cup his ass and lift him. Will shudders as Hannibal slips inside.

“Shhh, Will. Shh…”

He leans back against the broad chest cradling him. Is this what safety is? Being penetrated and held and kept close. He doesn’t know any more. Will likes how it feels. He wants to escape. His legs twitch restlessly in the water. The tug-of-war between those emotions gnaws at him.

“Will. _Will.”_

He’s slipping further under the water, but Hannibal’s grip tightens. His thrusts intensify, short and deep, making Will gasp with each movement of his hips.

Will, you’re dreaming.

_Will._

The darkness expands and recedes, leaving Will alone.

He wakes with his hand inside his shorts, wrapped tightly around his spent cock. Dried come coats his hand. Will wrinkles his nose at it, and takes himself off to the shower.

In the past ten years he’s jerked off more than once while thinking about Hannibal. It’s just something that happens. Sometimes it’s conscious, sometimes it’s like this, creeping up on him in his sleep.

He stands there in the shower, admitting the facts to himself.

He let Hannibal tie him up in his own bed like some sort of sacrifice. A sacrifice that was ultimately rejected, Will reminds himself. But he allowed it to happen all the same. He waited for Hannibal to do whatever it was that Hannibal intended to do, and then when it didn’t come, he had been disappointed.

There is no other word for it.

Will can’t erase that, no matter how many showers he takes, or walks out in the cold, brisk air.

He had wanted more, craved Hannibal’s touch. It had been denied him. He knows what Hannibal is doing. If Will wants more, he has to go willingly. It’s up to Will.

In that moment it had been easy to surrender. It’s less easy now that he’s not tied. He’d have to go back and admit what he wanted. In broad daylight. Of his own free will.

Now that he knows the truth, can he even do that?

He didn’t use to be cowardly. When he was younger, he had dared so many things. Thrown himself fearlessly into situations that now make Will shudder just thinking about them. The careless risks he used to take, they feel like a lifetime ago now. He’s different now. Whatever the things that remain the same within him, there’s new cells in there too – new skin, new him.

His blood though, still hungers for Hannibal, returning again and again to the memory of him, searching him out in the twists and turns of Will’s mind. When Will sleeps at night his dreams are filled with Hannibal. There is no respite.

He will have to stand on his own two feet if he chooses. But he will have to stand firm. Somehow, Will knows, the next time will be the last.

* * *

A week passes.

Will tries not to think about what happened in his bedroom, what Jack told him, what Hannibal further revealed to him, about really anything to do with Hannibal. There are moments when he almost manages it. He’s distracted by the dogs, the cold front setting in, the case still knocking repetitively at his head like an unwelcome guest at the door. Will accepts he doesn’t have enough whiskey for the other moments.

When he thinks about Jack, there’s guilt. Jack doesn’t know that Hannibal caught a killer he’s been looking for for god knows how many years. How could he? If Hannibal told him he’d be locked away. Will understands why Hannibal hasn’t told Jack. But when he thinks of Jack, and all that he’s done to try to help him…Will doesn’t know if he can live with the weight of this particular secret.

* * *

Will arranges the pictures of the current case in his living room, laying them out one by one. The current case. There’s always another killer. There is never an end to the violence men do. There are only the attempts to catch them and contain them. To get justice for their victims. To give peace to the families. What little peace can be found in the aftermath of brutal devastation.

He thinks of Hannibal then. A man who’s killed, more than once. He’s killed for Will. He’s eaten the heart of his own enemy. An act that for some reason Will can visualize perfectly with clear, untroubled eyes.

He should be horrified. On some level perhaps he is. But there is a difference in the sickening twist in his stomach at the thought and the quiet acceptance in his mind in how Hannibal sees the world. It’s entirely possible there is something very wrong with his mind as well. But Will accepted that possibility a long time ago.

For once photographs of the crime scene don’t help. He can’t get a feel for this killer. Too messy, too disorganized, but is that part of a plan, or is he truly psychotic without any sort of strategy whatsoever? No, he’d be making more mistakes if that were the case. There’s something missing. Will just can’t see it.

Four victims so far. There will be more. Will’s already tired of the certainty.

His stomach rumbles. He needs food. He should feed his dogs. He should…not think of Hannibal’s kitchen, _the scent of rosemary and thyme in the air, him on his knees, mouthing at Hannibal’s cock_. He had chosen that time and it made all the difference in the world.

What a precious thing choice is.

Now it weighs him down. Yet Will is still grateful for it. He’s not sure who he would be without it.

* * *

His head thrums endlessly when he talks to Jack, the ache pulsing at his temples.

“What are we missing?” Jack stands there in front of the evidence, eyes searching tirelessly for any clue that could leap out at him any second now. "What's there that we're not seeing?"

“I don’t know.” Will says for the third time during the conversation.

_How can you not look at Hannibal and see the truth gazing back at you?_

Now that he knows it, it feels blatant to Will, obvious for anyone to see.

* * *

It is no small thing to think you know someone. To know without a doubt they are who they say they are. No mask, no lies, no veneer of society’s civility. To stand face to face, and have them know you as well. To be yourself at the end of the day, and know that the person who gazes back at you is true in return.

* * *

Will gazes up at the man leaning over him as he lies still in his bed. “Why’re you here?”

“You took too long.” Hannibal whispers.

He straddles Will. His groin presses against Will’s through the blanket. Heat leaping from one body to another. Hannibal presses in harder, eyes on Will’s face.

Will suppresses a gasp. “Why’re you here?”

“I already told you.”

Hannibal’s hands press into his wrists, holding him down.

“This is a dream.”

Hannibal smiles, and Will knows he’s wrong. “My dear Will, do you wish that were at all true?” He’s mocking now, but it’s not cruel.

_Yes._

A dream can be contained within the mess of the space of his mind. Whatever treachery is lurking there, it is false in the daylight. But this - Hannibal’s fingers digging relentlessly into his wrists - this is real. This is inescapable.

“No,” Will says.

There’s the faintest glimmer of surprise in Hannibal’s eyes. It exists barely a second or two, before it’s gone, and then Hannibal presses even closer.

“Are you sure?”

His coat is thick against the blankets, imprisoning Will in his heat.

Hannibal presses him flat on the bed. Will remains silent as Hannibal’s hands caress his thighs and then Hannibal’s head is between his legs. Will arches up against that seeking mouth, Hannibal’s teeth tease against him.

Will remembers.

He will always remember. That weekend. Looking into Hannibal’s eyes and seeing a wealth of possibility within. Hannibal’s thumbs glide over his hips, cupping his ass, holding him there, panting and then Hannibal drags his mouth off.

“What’re you waiting for?” Will whispers.

“You.”

Hannibal lowers his mouth again, but this time his teeth sink deep into Will’s thigh.

Will jerks awake, scar throbbing. He’s covered in sweat, t-shirt reeking of it. The front of his shorts is damp as well.

He sits up, drawing his knees tight to his chest. He can’t stop shivering no matter how close he holds himself.

* * *

It had snowed sometime during the night. Will walks out in it. His boots leave concise prints in the white coating the bleak ground. The air grows colder the farther he walks, but he keeps going. It’s warm down in Mississippi, but he didn’t stay there. It was safer than working for the FBI, but how could he have known that would bring him back to Hannibal?

Will stands in the middle of the snow-covered field, gazing at the solitude around him.

Whatever attempt at normalcy Will has ever attempted, it died the moment he opened his mouth to talk about the things he sees – the parade of killers, the unspeakable acts they commit, the blood and savagery they leave in their wake. The dead they leave behind.

…but someone has to speak for the dead, and Will is aware of that, the burden of walking with that knowledge.

There is peace in death, but until that day, you have to keep going.

* * *

_“You sure I can’t persuade you to come for dinner”_

The words echo in his mind. He has heard those words night after night, thudding against his skull like a dull hammer. Between that and working on the case, he can barely sleep. When he does sleep, there is no rest.

So at last Will answers. The better to get it over with. To put an end to this at last. No more delays.

“Hello?” Hannibal sounds perfectly at ease when he answers the phone.

“Would you still like me to come for dinner?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Will licks his lips, nervous now that it’s truly happening. “When?”

There’s silence at the other end as Hannibal considers the matter. Will stands in his kitchen, waiting, watching the clock tick time by. Outside his window a crow pecks at a knot on a pine tree. The bird cocks its beak, studying the knot intently, before attacking it again.

“Tomorrow night.” Hannibal sounds sure of himself, as sure as ever, as though he had been merely waiting for Will to make the call. He probably was.

“You’ll be ready with that little time to prepare?”

There’s a soft chuckle, confirming Will’s theory. “I’ve been waiting for this, Will.” He’s always been ready is what Hannibal means.

* * *

How many times has Will stood on Hannibal’s doorstep, waiting to be let in? He shivers a little, looking up at the light in the lantern hanging above the doorbell. The flame flickers, reminding him of a fairy tale saying he once read. _If you enter a dragon’s lair, you must be prepared for the risks. If you return to that lair, you must be willing to face the consequences._

The door opens and Hannibal stands there, gazing at him. It’s a far cry from that first time on his doorstep, when he left Will there while he parked his car in the garage. This time Will has a much clearer picture of what’s waiting for him inside the dragon’s lair.

“Good evening, Will.” Hannibal holds the door open. “Please.”

He crosses the threshold and enters.

The pervasive scent drifting from the kitchen is rich and seductive. Will licks his lips in apprehension as Hannibal takes his coat. He’s conscious as ever of Hannibal’s touch, no matter how fleeting.

“Please go into the dining room.” Hannibal smooths a wrinkle from Will’s coat and closes the closet.

There are candles lit on the waiting table, casting a graceful, low light over the tablecloth. Shadows gather in the corners of the dining room, and in Will’s mind, taking refuge in the familiar.

It’s a seduction of sorts. It’s a peace offering of another. It’s dinner at Hannibal’s table. Will looks at the table Hannibal’s prepared for him and waits.

“Please be seated.” Hannibal gestures to a chair at his left as he picks up a bottle of wine. Will watches as he twists the cork free and sniffs the wine appreciatively before pouring the rich red into two waiting glasses.

Will gratefully accepts a glass. “It smells good.”

“Good.” Hannibal raises his glass. “To dinner with old friends.”

Will raises his glass in answer. “Old friends.” Is that what they are? According to the dictionary, a friend is _‘a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.’_ That is not how he would have described their relationship.

He sits while Hannibal brings in the dishes on covered platters.

“My own recipe,” Hannibal removes the lid. “Lamb tips in a burgundy mushroom sauce.”

He’s marinated the meat in red wine, before cutting it into extremely fine points. The tips rest on a carefully arranged bed of mushrooms, the sauce glazed succinctly over the meat. The scent of the meat itself is thick, lingering with heavy spices. Tarragon, cloves of garlic, a sprig of rosemary. They could blindfold Will and give him an array of dishes to taste and he would always know Hannibal’s handiwork no matter the occasion.

He cuts a tip in half and takes a bite.

The meat is delicious cooked, and yet there’s an almost stringy quality to it. The cut is faintly tough on Will’s teeth. It’s unlike anything Hannibal has ever served him before. It seems uncharacteristic of him to serve it now. There is something more to the meat.

Will finishes chewing and swallows his mouthful, aware of Hannibal watching him. “I take it there’s some significance to the meat we’re eating tonight.”

“Yes.” Hannibal inspects his own fork before placing a bite in his mouth. The expression on his face, savoring the taste, is a piece of art all its own.

“Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?” Will assumes it’s the later.

There’s something heavy in the room, pressing inward until there’s only him and Hannibal and the table between them. The scent of meat cloys in the air, the fragments of it strained on Will’s fork. He cuts another piece, watching Hannibal watch him as he eats it. The stringiness is impossible to escape. It’s such an odd combination of taste and texture.

“How is it?” Hannibal asks as Will swallows once more. “Your honest opinion, please.”

“The meat’s a little dry.” Will licks his lips. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I expected it to be so.” Hannibal picks up his knife. It is extremely dry, but well-flavored, thanks to his careful preservation. He takes great satisfaction in each bite. “It was not a particularly good cut of meat.”

Will lifts another forkful. “Would you be honest if I asked you to?”

“Why don't you ask and see?”

Will’s fork falters before reaching his lips. “Why are you serving me this?”

In that Hannibal finds it easy to be completely honest. “Because I’ve waited a long time to do so.”

Will takes a long sip of wine. He lets the wine settle, wetting his tongue, before he cuts another careful bite. He thinks of ten years gone, and people that Hannibal might consider worth killing. People that Will might not particularly miss.

_Martin._

He hasn’t thought of Martin in years, not until he made the decision to come back to Baltimore. No one will miss that sickening slug of a man, certainly not Will. But does that give anyone the right to snuff out his life? What sort of person does such a thing, other than a killer? But when he looks at Hannibal, that’s not the only part of him Will sees. That’s what clouds Will’s vision. Usually it’s so clear, so easy to see the way ahead. Here Will sees more than he intends and it’s bewildering. For the first time, the killing doesn’t anger him.

Will’s throat closes tight, at what that would truly mean for his own peace of mind.

The night is dark, the house shadowy, everything too close. He takes a deep gasping breath and breathes in the terror, before retching into his napkin. Nothing comes up. Even his stomach won’t surrender this revenge of Hannibal’s.

“You’re not running.” Hannibal observes. He leans forward, contemplating Will’s posture as he hunches over further, dry heaving again.

“No.” Will says at last. “I’m not.” He straightens up, facing the fact that there’s nowhere else to look but at Hannibal.

“Tell me.” Will wipes his mouth on the corner of his napkin. “What bit of Martin did you find worth consuming?”

There’s a smile on Hannibal’s lips. “I admit, it was difficult finding a suitable cut of meat. His flanks turned out to be the best, surprisingly. A little bit of fat perhaps, but nothing that couldn’t be easily discarded.”

There’s an explanation for it, probably. The fact that he’s not screaming his lungs off. _A dangerous killer just fed me part of my former pimp._ Who do you talk to for something like that? How do you even begin to explain… But there’s something, isn’t there, in the knowledge that a cultured, intelligent man killed a wretched, abusive brute who even now Will doesn’t like to think of. Even now, he can’t find horror in Martin’s death at Hannibal’s hands.

He should tell Jack. He should run.

Hannibal picks up the bottle of wine to refill his glass. “You asked me once why I wanted to keep you.”

“That was a long time ago.” Will tells him. The conversation feels both normal and surreal at the same time. They go hand in hand together. He watches the wine swirl in the glass.

“And,” Hannibal shrugs. “More time will pass.”

Will raises the glass to his lips.

Martin. Before that there was the client in the hotel room, and before that the man who killed Hannibal’s sister. Hannibal has killed at least three times. Three men. The odds are that there are likely more dead than that out there in the darkness.

Hannibal rises to pour Will more wine. His hand rests on the back of Will’s chair. Will’s intensely aware of his proximity. He recognizes the hunger in Hannibal’s body language. A divine hunger that he’s allowing Will to see. A hunger for Will’s body, yet he’s devoured the flesh of other men, fed it to Will, and Will’s eaten it. His body didn’t instinctively recognize the humanity of those men and reject it. It was just meat.

“We are all just meat when it comes to you,” Will realizes, speaking aloud whether he intended to or not. “The only question after that is how long until we’re spoiled.”

“I’ll keep you well salted, and preserved.” Hannibal whispers in his ear before returning to his chair.

He probably would.

Will swallows his wine and looks at Hannibal across the table.

Hannibal merely gazes back.

“You’ve killed. More than one person.”

“I don’t kill people purely for fun.” There seems to be some need for him to say this, so Hannibal does. He wonders if that will satisfy Will’s need for justice or whether there will be more to come.

“But you do enjoy it.” Will says.

Hannibal shrugs his shoulders, a miniscule movement as if to say, ‘ _Who doesn’t enjoy doing what they’re good at?’_

* * *

He can’t eat another bite. Will reaches again for his wine, but his hand is unsteady. He knows Hannibal can see this.

Hannibal rises to his feet and holds out his hand. “Come with me, Will.”

After a moment Will stands and accepts the hand offered to him. Hannibal holds it for no more than a moment. It is merely a reassurance of palms, and then he goes to the door, and Will follows.

It’s not truly any surprise when Hannibal takes him to the study. There Hannibal turns on the lamp upon his desk. He looks at Will. “I never showed you my sketches, did I?”

“I believe I would remember it if you had.”

Hannibal nods. “It’s only a hobby, but one I find amusing.” His fingers sift gracefully through a folder sitting upon the desk. At last he plucks one out. “Here.”

Will moves closer to look at the drawing offered to him. It’s a sketch of himself, ten years ago. It’s not a surprise but instead of one of the many sexual poses Hannibal could have drawn him in, instead he drew Will sitting in Hannibal’s kitchen.

“I remember that morning.” Will says. “You cooked for me then too.”

“You were hungry.” Hannibal murmurs in response.

“So you fed me.” Will’s looking at him, at his eyes, and Hannibal sets the drawing down.

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

“And now?”

“And now,” Hannibal steps closer to Will. “I would like to kiss you.”

That's not a surprise either, but Will still feels that involuntary jolt to his nerves. He looks around the study, trying to focus, reaching for anything to steady himself. The shadows in the room flicker and morph into darker creations, whispering and twisting together.

“Will.”

Hannibal’s voice is a light in the dark. Will rubs at the sockets of his eyes, stumbling backwards.

“Will.”

His hand catches the ladder and Will leans against it, steadying himself.

_“Will.”_

He looks up at Hannibal as he places a hand on either side of Will’s face, just holding him, gazing down into Will’s eyes. Will shudders at Hannibal’s touch, and then his entire body calms. The sweat that’s started along his brow settles. He can breathe again.

“I’m s-sorry,” he starts.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Hannibal tells him. It’s true. Will has done nothing wrong here.

Will takes a deep breath, releases it. He looks at Hannibal, and then, “Kiss me.” Will says.

Surprise gathers in Hannibal’s eyes, but the smile that overtakes his lips is far quicker to respond. Will’s skin tingles as Hannibal’s fingers smooth his cheekbones, removing his glasses.

Hannibal folds the frames and puts them carefully in his pocket. He’s still holding Will and within his grasp Will slowly relaxes. Hannibal smiles again.

“You’re safe now, Will.”

“Am I?” Will murmurs.

Hannibal presses him up against the ladder, nudging a knee between Will’s thighs, making him keen faintly as he spreads his legs. His hands grasp Will’s wrists, raising them above his head.

“Close your eyes, Will.”

He does. For once it’s simple in the dark of his own mind. Will waits, listening to the tick of the clock, the rustle of the breeze outside, and then Hannibal’s hands close upon his wrists again. Next there’s the rasp of rope tightening around his wrists, anchoring him in place. Hannibal’s hands ease down his arms and clasp Will’s face, lifting his chin up.

“And open them.”

His eyelids flutter unwillingly, but Will obeys to find Hannibal smiling at him once more. Then Hannibal steps back.

“Now. Shall we begin?”

* * *

“You still haven’t kissed me.” Will says in response.

Hannibal laughs. “All in good time.”

He starts slow. This time he has no intention of letting Will go until he’s ready to do so. This time, he has all the time in the world. Tied to his ladder, Will’s not going anywhere until Hannibal chooses.

For now he chooses this.

He unbuttons Will’s shirt, each button a rasp on the material, slipping the eyelet. At last he lets the shirt hang open, revealing Will’s bare chest. Hannibal presses a palm to Will’s stomach, observing the way Will sucks in his breath at the touch. Will’s skin is warm under his hand.

Hannibal moves his hand lower until he rests it right above Will’s zipper. He brushes his thumb along the hem of Will’s pants, watching him.

“Tell me, Will. When you dream of me…are we fucking, or am I killing you?”

Will’s breath catches tightly in his throat. He has to push hard against his own resistance to answer. “Sometimes one. Sometimes the other.”

Hannibal waits.

“Sometimes it’s both.” Will whispers. His cock hardens as he admits this.

Instead of touching him, Hannibal skirts his groin and moves downward. He removes Will’s shoes and socks next, setting them to one side. There’s a vulnerability to Will’s bare feet. Hannibal curves a hand around Will’s left ankle, feeling the fine hair there, lying along the tense bone.

He glances up at Will.

He’s a deer hung on a hook, waiting to be bled dry. A feast for Hannibal’s senses to devour. He’s Will. He’s _Hannibal’s._

And with that thought, Hannibal unzips Will’s pants and drags them down his thighs to coil around his ankles. Will’s cock, still confined, still hidden, swells under the fervency of Hannibal’s focus.

Hannibal brushes the curve of it with his fingertip, before tugging the briefs down as well.

* * *

“It’s been a long time.” Hannibal says.

He leaves Will where he is and goes over to his desk.

“You still keep lubricant in your top drawer, don’t you?”

Hannibal smiles. “I’m pleased you remember.”

He pours a small amount into the center of his palm and returns to the ladder and his prey.

Hannibal starts slow, hand encasing Will from base to tip. Will arches up on the tips of his toes, lips numb, trying to escape the pleasure building in him. There’s no use in begging yet. He’ll save that. Hannibal’s hand holds him firmly, squeezing each ripple of enjoyment from his cock. Will squirms, trying to move his hips away from Hannibal’s grasp.

He strokes Will until he’s all but coming. Hannibal lets his cock alone then, turning his attention to Will’s nipples. A flick of his fingertips has them pert and erect. He pinches one, watching the tight wince of pain cross Will’s face. He bites the second one, hard enough to almost draw blood.

Will’s gasping when he releases it. Hannibal studies the minute expressions in the lines of his face, and then he does it again. Will lets out a hoarse yell. Hannibal twists the sore nub, as he turns back to his first nipple, biting that one as well. Will shudders, rocking back against the ladder.

“Ha-annibal,” his teeth clench together as he struggles not to come.

Hannibal catches the drop of pre-come gathering at the tip of his cock and brings it to his lips. He smiles, and Will knows what he’s thinking of.

He looks away before he can stop himself, a hot flush overtaking his cheeks.

“Will, Will,” Hannibal is patient, but chiding. “Don’t look away. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed…I’m…” He doesn’t know what he is. He simply is.

Hannibal smooths his thumb along the curve under Will’s eye, feeling the tremors of his bone. He wants all of it, everything Will’s willing to give, everything he’s struggling to hold on to. Hannibal wants it all.

“You can come.” Hannibal whispers.

He circles the tip of Will’s cock with his fist and tugs.

There are shadows expanding and twirling in the center of Will’s pupils. His body jerks with the force of his orgasm, thrilling through him until he’s spent, hanging limply against the ladder. His wrists will wear these bruises for days. He will wear the memory for as long as he lives.

Hannibal steps back to survey him. His hunger’s rising, Will’s scent urging him on. “Now.” He whispers. He’s allowed Will to come. Now it’s his turn.

Hannibal inserts two well-lubed fingers inside Will, watching him twist at the abruptness of it. Hannibal fucks him open with his fingers, making Will twist and squirm harder. He wants Will to remember this, to feel it in his blood and memory and bone for endless days and nights.

His hands spread Will’s thighs making Will sigh as he steps between them. The tip of his cock nudges at Will. Will, so warm, simply waiting, for Hannibal. Hannibal spreads his legs further apart as he thrusts inside.

Will makes no sound but a soft drawn in breath. He’s just gazing back at Hannibal, sweating and silent. Hannibal grips his hips harder, thrusting deeper. He pauses, buried in Will’s flesh, to sniff the air appreciatively. It’s a rich bouquet. He’s missed this. He’s missed Will.

Will pants. The rungs of the ladder press into the tender flesh of his ass. The scent of sex coils in the air around him like a serpent. Will has no breath left as Hannibal speeds up his thrusts. He’s airless, floating above the room, yet tethered to the earth by Hannibal’s grip, grounding him, holding him there.

Hannibal lifts one hand to touch his wrists, and then he sinks his teeth into Will’s neck. Will’s cry is lost in Hannibal’s shirt. Hannibal’s body slows as he comes, still moving inside of Will, still holding him. His lips press against the bite and Will moans.

Now Hannibal looks disheveled, his hair slightly disarrayed. Will likes him like this, likes Hannibal showing that Will had an effect on him, any effect at all.

Hannibal takes a breath, putting himself back in order.

“Are you thirsty, Will?”

He hadn’t thought of it until now, but his mouth is dry. “Yes.”

Hannibal leaves the room, to return with a glass of chilled wine. He lets Will take a sip, and then another, until it’s half gone, before he sets it on the desk.

“Now let me see.”

His fingertips smooth over Will’s groin and hips, massaging muscle, and testing genitals. His fingers are gentle but stimulating as they move over Will’s sensitive skin. Hannibal’s thumbs dip into the hollows along Will’s groin as Will sucks in a breath.

Eventually he provokes a reaction. Slowly Will’s cock starts to respond again. Hannibal coaxes it back to hardness and then he steps back to survey the scene.

Hannibal gazes at his torso. The curve of Will’s cock, the pale hair on his thighs, and his scar. The scar that Hannibal gave him. A memory he will carry with him forever.

“Did you miss me, Will?”

Will swallows. “I thought about you when I jerked off. I dreamed of you when I slept.”

Hannibal nods, his hand on Will’s hip. He waits.

Will exhales shakily. “Yes.” I missed you. I didn’t want to but-“ _that never stopped whatever twisted longing that’s buried deep inside me._

Hannibal’s smile is the sea – dark and infinite, and ready to take Will body and soul. His hands press Will’s thighs, stroking the soft insides with his thumbs. Then he pushes them just a fraction apart, the better to make Will squirm once more in his grasp. Only then does Hannibal take Will in his mouth.

* * *

Will sucks in a deep breath and gazes back at Hannibal with half-lidded eyes.

“If you only knew how beautiful you are like this.” Hannibal says. He knows Will will never truly believe him. He can only choose to accept the way Hannibal sees him, for what he is, rather than what he can do.

All of this, the past, the years apart, it has only brought them here. Will has only his choice before him. Hannibal knows in the end only Will can decide this.

He looks at Will, still bound, and thinks how easy it would be to keep him. But he wants Will to make that choice. Wants to know Will is his for the keeping, all the more because Will gives himself freely.

Calmly Hannibal looks at his watch. “I am going to leave you here.”

Will blinks – brain flashing backward.

_Hannibal watching Will as he takes that call in his study, deciding not to go into work that weekend. Hannibal amused at Will’s attempts to annoy him simply because him he doesn’t want to be alone._

Hannibal leans in, and all Will can come up with is “Are you just going to keep tying me up and letting me work myself free?”

Hannibal’s lips chuckle against his own. “What do you think?”

“At least this time I got to come.” Will responds.

Hannibal’s eyes darken with amusement. Will catches his lip between his teeth at the sight. Hannibal’s in his blood now, and Will breathes deeply, knowing this.

Hannibal looks Will in the eyes, leaving no room for escape. “You need to choose, Will.” His mouth entreats Will’s lips, kissing him deeply, leaving him breathless. And then he merely leaves.

Will is alone in the study as he was in his bedroom. Like he’s been alone in this room before, waiting for Hannibal’s return.

* * *

Will twists slightly, but the rope holds fast. _My own fault._ He should have seen this coming. The specifics eluded him. But yes, he should have seen this coming. He’s been tied to Hannibal’s ladder before, even if it was years ago.

He twists again.

There’s another flash in his mind. This one is bright sparks against the dark of his eyelids. A man with a gun. It’s not particularly elegant. It’s not _how_ he kills. It’s merely the weapon that persuades his victims into position, and then, only then, does he make the final move. Knife and teeth, bloody and malevolent.

_The body in the water, floating – listless and pale. The eviscerated corpse from the second site, mangled and torn. Each victim twisted and broken, and discarded. Not carefully, not lovingly, not with any sort of understanding of humanity or appreciation for life._

_He leaves behind nothing but death in his wake, and in that lies his creation. – pure destruction. He’s trying to create something, but he has no idea how to do it, he can only destroy and he’ll keep on destroying until he’s stopped._

Will opens his eyes, pulling hard in his restraints, his chest pounding. He knows how he did it. He knows the killer. Sweat coats his brow like dew. He’s caught here and the murderer is going to slip through everyone’s fingers. He twists and pulls, wincing at the burn of the ropes on his skin and then, at last he’s free.

Will falls to his knees, still struggling for breath. For a moment he rests on his hands, palms on the carpet. Breath after breath. His eyes focus. This carpet, he’s been here before. He’s done unspeakable things here, had unspeakable things done to him….and the carpet has been cleaned and bears no trace of him or past events.

He should have known Hannibal would clean up after the mess.

Will braces himself, pushing himself to his feet. He has to get to Jack and tell him. Tell him that the killer is so close to the scene they should have seen it long before.

It’s one of the men they interviewed him on the first day at the first crime scene. Not a suspect, not someone they looked twice at, merely a neighbor who might have seen something. He had been as helpful as possible under the circumstances.

Will gathers up his clothes, pulling them on. He smells like Hannibal, like sex, but he has to get to Jack. There’s no time for anything else. He looks around once more before he leaves the house. It feels like he should have left a note or something for Hannibal. Yet somehow he thinks Hannibal will know why he’s gone, and why he’s not still tied there, waiting, for his return.

* * *

“It’s the neighbor.” Will shoves his hands in his pocket. “That’s the man we’re looking for.” He can still see the man’s hands, dipped lightly in blood, brushing away the remnants of hair clinging to his fingers. “We talked to him the very first day, remember?”

Jack looks up at him from the board he’s been studying. “And how have you arrived at that conclusion?” He has all the pieces pinned up in front of him, he’s been going over them all day, on a very disappointing amount of coffee, and now this. But even as his skepticism wants to disbelieve this, his gut says Will knows his stuff.

“He’s been at all the houses. He watches them.” Will points to the picture of the most recent victim. “He took the photos in their homes, Jack. That’s how…that’s how he gets them.” Why wouldn’t you trust someone who’s there to create a memory of your family?

Will winces as he moves unsteadily, and Jack catches his arm. “You all right?”

“Yeah. I just…haven’t been sleeping well.” It’s a feeble excuse.

“I wish I could let you go home, but we need to make that arrest.” Jack’s already moving into action. They can’t let there be another victim and Will knows this.

“That’s all right.” Will says. It’s not. But he can handle this. He’s been handling it, doing it one more time shouldn’t be an issue.

But when they walk through the man’s door, and into his lair, he knows it’s a mistake and he should have stayed away. Seeing this is too much. Shards of blood stab at his eyes and he stumbles, catching himself on a table edge.

Jack shoots him a look, but Will steadies himself. Holding his breath, breathing in and out. He manages to hold it together, hold himself still, until the arrest is made. The killer’s eyes are dark and empty, and they look past Will to the empty future his life holds.

“Go home, Will.” Jack’s touch to his shoulder is still brusque, but he’s caught the killer, he can afford to allow himself a benign gesture now. “Get some rest.”

“Thanks.” Will says. “I’ll try.” If he closes his eyes he knows what he’ll find. He doesn’t want to do that.

“I’ll have one of the drivers take you back.”

Once he settles into the back of the car though Will can’t think of any address but Hannibal’s. The distance back to Wolf Trap seems long and unbearable.

“Where to?”

 _Go home._ Jack said.

So he goes to Hannibal’s.

It’s been a very long day. The earth has turned another time. The light long since slipped out of sight, leeched by the coming darkness. And once more Will finds himself on Hannibal’s doorstep. The lantern is still burning, waiting for him.

He knocks, and looks out at the dark around him, shivering.

Hannibal draws him inside the house without a word. He’s in his dressing gown now, but Will knows, like he knows the scent of murder, and the taste of blood on his tongue, that Hannibal was waiting for him.

* * *

Will’s skin is paler than usual, cold to the touch when Hannibal clasps his arm and then his cheek. He’s so cold. He’s been out in the winter, freezing away all this time. His eyes drift past Hannibal, looking at the corners of the room, the ceiling, anywhere but Hannibal.

“Will?”

“I…” Will swallows, trying to focus.

“What do you need, Will?”

“I need you to….be you.” Will says at last. “I need you to be honest with me.” His eyes are guileless. Whatever he’s seeking here, Hannibal desires to be that for him. What is honesty after all, but a certain aspect of the truth revealed to those who seek it?

“What did you find tonight?” Something he saw, something Jack showed him. There’s a brief flicker of anger against Jack for exposing Will to unnecessary things. But it’s also Will’s choice to step through that door, and ultimately Hannibal is more intrigued than worried by it. Especially when he is here to pick up the pieces. That can make all the difference.

His hands smooth over Will’s hair, and cup his face. “Tell me.”

Will does, in short clipped sentences about the man who killed, stripped and discarded his victims like wrapping paper after a birthday party.

“He was done with them.” His skin is warming, but Hannibal doesn’t want to let him go.

Will’s eyes slides to the right, and then forward, gazing at him. “You were there.”

“Was I?”

“In my head.” Will whispers. “When I saw it. When.” He glances towards the ladder and Hannibal understands then. It’s through the time that he left Will there that led Will to this revelation.

“Well, then, I think that calls for celebration. Don’t you?” He steps back, allowing Will to steady himself on his own feet. “Take your coat off, Will.”

He selects a bottle of dark red wine and pours Will a full glass as well as one for himself.

Will takes it, sips. “What exactly are we celebrating?” His head is clearing slowly, but he still can’t make sense of the last few hours. His fingers are still frozen, one hand curled tightly against his thigh as he drinks his wine.

“Your catching a killer.” Hannibal had this planned.

“You approve of that.” Will looks skeptical and Hannibal finds himself charmed all over again.

“Why not?”

Will shakes his head. He can’t explain it. He’s still shivering. Too cold, not even the fire warms him.

“You should take a shower. It will warm you.”

“Sounds good in theory.” Will murmurs.

Nevertheless, he lets Hannibal show him to the bathroom, give him a towel, and start the water running for him. He half expected Hannibal to stay, but Hannibal leaves, closing the door behind him, letting Will undress in private.

His nipples sting when he steps under the water. They’re angry and raw, and Will touches them gingerly, remembering Hannibal’s mouth.

_I could devour you so easily._

_But he hadn’t._

_“You don’t get a prize for not killing and eating me.”_

_“I never asked for one.”_

_Will sighs._

_Hannibal licks at his right nipple and Will moans. Then he leaves it alone, attending instead to Will’s pants, bringing them down to his mid-thighs, leaving him there._

_He had stopped asking if Will is afraid. They both know that’s not what’s making him hard, causing the rapid tightness in his chest._

Will remembers.

… _masturbating in Hannibal’s study while Hannibal ignored him, reading away._

_… the stretch of Hannibal’s cock filling him._

The hunger he remembers. He remembers Hannibal saying, _'I'd like you to stay,'_ deciding to keep him for the weekend. And the desolate disappointment when it ended.

He turns off the water and reaches for a towel.

* * *

Will goes downstairs in the bathrobe Hannibal left out for him. He finds Hannibal in the study once more.

“There, how was that?” Hannibal inquires.

“Good. Better.” Will concedes. He stands in front of the fire. His legs still shaky, his hands numb. His nakedness under the robe is distracting.

“I should go home, my dogs.”

“Is there anyone who could feed them just for tonight?”

“There’s a neighbor…” Will doesn’t want to take advantage.

He gives Hannibal the name and number of the woman who a mile away. She’s fed the dogs before on nights where he gets tied up at Quantico later than he intended.

Hannibal holds a short, polite conversation with the woman, and then assures Will that his dogs are being well looked after.

After a moment’s hesitation, Hannibal calls Jack next just to let him know that Will’s with him. If Jack wonders why, he doesn’t ask.

“That’s probably a good idea. He shouldn’t be alone.”

“He will not be alone tonight.” Hannibal says. It’s early to assert his claim perhaps, but the sooner Jack gets an inkling that Will and Hannibal are involved, for lack of a better term, the better.

Another short hesitation. “Good.” Jack says at last, “Let me talk to him.”

Will takes the phone, and Hannibal watches his face as he listens to Jack congratulate him.

“I just wanted to thank you again. I know it was rough out there today.”

_You have no idea._

“I know it’s soon to think of it, but we have another file for you to start on Monday.” Jack tells him. “It’s…” He hesitates again, and Will knows it’s bad.

“I see.” Will glances up at Hannibal. “Monday.” A brief respite. Theoretically he could leave, but both he and Hannibal know that’s not happening tonight. If he tells Jack the truth about Hannibal, it’ll derail this new case just as new evidence is coming in. If he tells Jack.

Hannibal merely watches him, curiosity evident as always.

“Goodnight, Jack.” Will sets the phone down. He leans back in the chair, gazing up at Hannibal.

“You said I wouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“Not unless you want to be.”

“I don’t.” Admitting it is easier than Will thought it would be.

“I thought not.” Hannibal leans down. “You need distraction. To be drawn out of your mind.”

“Yes.” Will whispers. He needs something. But he doesn’t know how to find it.

“Wait here.” Hannibal leaves the room.

Will looks around the room, trying to make sense of it all. Here in the study where only earlier that day Hannibal had tied him to the ladder. It seems possible. Here where Hannibal has filled his mind, freed it, let it wander, while keeping it anchored. Here where Hannibal has perused the depths of both his body and mind.

Hannibal returns and comes to stand in front of him.

“Close your eyes Will.”

Will obeys.

Hannibal places the tie over his eyes. Willy’s mouth is dry as he ties it in place.

His hand rests on the back of Will’s neck, easing him out of the chair, down to the floor on his knees.

“Now. Will. You can think.”

And it’s true. His mind is cleared.

“It’s not the same tie.” He says.

“True.” Hannibal’s thumb strokes over one covered eye. “I bought this when I noticed the absence of the one you took. As a reminder, and a promise to myself of what I intended to do with you when you returned.”

“When.” Will murmurs. “Not if?”

Hannibal merely smiles. Will can’t see it, but he knows it’s there.

When he dares open his eyes, the tie resting against them is a blur of dark maroon. In the soft light of Hannibal’s study, it looks like old blood. Will’s groin tightens at the sight of it.

Hannibal crouches beside him. He wraps his hand round Will’s throat. He has Will here now, in his space and he intends to remind Will just precisely how much he belongs to Hannibal. He will give Will new memories to take place of the old.

“Hannibal.” Will manages.

Hannibal’s breath is hot on his neck, his other hand possessive between Will’s legs. Will’s heart races like a fox pursued by the hunters. He remembers Will’s body all too well. The scents he emits when aroused, confused, lost to the wandering depths of his mind. Hannibal drinks them all in, pressing his lips to his neck.

Will shivers. “We could-”

Hannibal squeezes his throat and he subsides. Hannibal’s other hand comes up to caress his flesh, seeping between Will’s legs to cup him. He remembers everything. The soft sigh of breath Will makes as he strokes him. The way his body trembles under Hannibal’s touch. The way he welcomes it.

He smooths Will’s balls in the palm of his hand, stroking it with his thumb. Will’s palms flatten against the carpet.

“We could,” he tries again, without really knowing what he’s saying. Hannibal’s mouth is on his back and Will’s head drops between his shoulders as it moves lower down his spine. He knows what’s coming even before Hannibal’s tongue traces over the cleft of his ass.

Will’s eyes close behind the tie.

_He’s in a field. He’s in a long hallway. He’s alone, in the dark and Hannibal’s tongue pushes into him, spreading him open, and revealing his secrets. He’s walking along the corridor. Hannibal’s hand on his cheek. The dark shivers all around him as Hannibal probes deeper._

Will’s cock throbs desperately between his thighs. He used to be better at this, to detach. He hasn’t needed to in years. Hannibal is the only one who’s able to hold him in the present. It was Hannibal who first did this to him, here in this very room, on this very floor. Hannibal’s tongue deep inside him, drawing out his secrets.

“Do you want to touch yourself, Will?” Hannibal’s voice is a rasp in the dark, a map drawing him back to the moment.

“Yes,” Will tells him. What he wouldn’t give to put his hands on himself, milking himself dry until his flesh can’t bear any more.

Hannibal whispers “Too bad.” And Will smiles in spite of himself.

“What’re you-”

Hannibal pulls one of his wrists high behind his back and then the other, binding them tighter with his own belt. Taught and caught, perfection. Will’s bound and caught, resting before Hannibal on his knees.

Hannibal’s hand presses again on his neck, until Will bends further, forward on his knees, face nearly touching the carpet. This he remembers. This is familiar. 

“This time you will come when I let you.” Hannibal gives his cock an amused tug.

He slips a hand around to tug at one of Will’s nipples. Will lets out a strangled cry, as Hannibal’s fingers pull cruelly at the abused nub. Tears gather in the crevices of his eyes and he gasps, cock throbbing harder.

Hannibal returns to licking him then, tongue possessing him, dragging him deeper, and deeper. Will’s knees burn on the carpet, his shoulders strain. He can’t squeeze his thighs together any tighter, can’t escape.

There’s a hand on his mouth, Hannibal’s palm sliding over his cheek and then catching at his hair, tugging him up by his hair. The tie is removed. Will blinks. The shadows from the fireplace have grown darker.

There’s barely a trace of what Hannibal’s been doing. The faintest color in his face, nothing more, nothing less. Will on the other hand is nothing but evidence, sweating, hard, nearly naked, bound. His shoulders heave with the strain of it all. The ache of his pained arousal.

Hannibal reaches out and wraps the robe's collar around his fingers, drawing Will close as he unties the belt, releasing Will’s abused wrists.

He rubs his thumb over the marks gently, gazing down at Will’s painfully erect cock.

He could give Will a choice here, but he doesn’t want to. “Upstairs.” Will can have his choice later, but not until Hannibal has his fill.

Will stumbles backward as Hannibal releases his hair.

They walk up the stairs side by side.

* * *

In the bedroom Hannibal gazes at Will thoughtfully. “Lie on the bed.”

“No restraints this time?” Will faces him.

“I don’t need to tie you this time.” Hannibal says. “I do want you to lie still though.”

Hannibal sits back on the bed. Will wants to squirm but holds himself still as Hannibal’s hand travels upward on his thigh to his stomach, to his neck, stroking collarbone.

“Did you ever masturbate with the tie you stole from me?”

Will swallows.

Hannibal smiles. He looks down, at Will’s dick, still waiting for release. His hand closes over it. “I thought of you. Doing exactly that.”

“How much?”

“Often enough.” Hannibal strokes him in one long easy glide from his pubic hair to his tip. “I pictured you in your new life.”

“And then?” Will whispers. His cock is still sensitive from earlier. His body is exhausted, and yet Hannibal’s bringing it back it back to life with every caress.

“I pictured you coming back.” Hannibal stands, moving away from the bed. He undresses without any pretense of speed, each piece of clothing laid carefully aside.

He coats his fingers with lube before pushing into Will easily. His other thumb moves over Will’s scar. Will bites down a guttural moan as Hannibal adds a second finger, effectively fucking him with his curled fingers. He will not be able to bear this for much longer. Yet he knows how much Hannibal likes to play.

“This is unnecessary after earlier.” Will manages. “Are you going to torture me all night?”

“This, my dear Will, is nowhere near torture.” Hannibal’s fingers deepen inside him. He broadens his strokes.

“I can’t.” He doesn’t even have to try to control himself. They’re there at the corners of his eyelids, flickering, waiting to be let in but he doesn’t need to. Not here. The dead whisper and recede, stepping back for the moment.

“Well? What are you waiting for then?”

Hannibal strokes his scar. It feels hot on Will’s skin. His cock pulses and throbs aching. Hannibal’s fingers twist, digging into the raised skin.

“Do you want me to let go?”

Will looks up at him, focusing. Hannibal gazes at him, all seriousness.

He’s picked his moment very well indeed. Will squirms hesitantly without meaning to. He catches his pulse, feeling it race as he counts to ten. Hannibal’s eyes never leave him. His fingers burn inside Will.

“No.” Will says then.

It’s bribery, it’s blackmail, it’s manipulation – Will doesn’t care about any of that.

Hannibal sinks inside Will at last, slick and easy this time, with Will’s body welcoming him home. Will cries out silently in the depths of his heart as Hannibal fills him. Hannibal braces himself against the bed, just holding himself there and then he thrusts a little deeper.

“Will.” He says, waiting for Will to respond.

Will raises his face and Hannibal kisses his mouth, first his lips, delicately like he’s tasting a rare delicacy. Next, Will’s tongue. Hannibal savors it, a little greedily now that he has Will here in his bed, where he belongs.

Will arches his back and Hannibal’s teeth graze down his neck over the mark he left earlier. Will whimpers as Hannibal traces it with his lips.

They move together, Will’s legs wrapped around Hannibal’s waist, pulling him deeper. His teeth sink into Will’s flesh once more, his body pushing and claiming Will’s cock, trapping it between them with each thrust until Will is panting harder, caught in the _fever sweat lust_ , desirous of forever, wanting that which is out of reach.

* * *

When he wakes Will is alone in the bed. The room is still dark, the curtains drawn. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, what year it is.

It’s the present, and he’s in Hannibal’s bed once more.

* * *

In the quiet sanctuary of Hannibal’s bedroom, Will thinks about it.

_I don’t want this._

It’s a lie. It’s the truth. It’s both. Does he even know what he wants anymore? Is there anything he truly _wants?_ Or is it the absence of wanting, the things he doesn’t want that frame his world these days? He doesn’t want someone else to control his life. He doesn’t want pain. He doesn’t want to sleep with people he doesn’t want to sleep with. He doesn’t want any of that.

He wants peace. He wants space of his own, to be still and alone in. A safe space if those things even exist. He wants a companion of some sort. At times.

Hannibal treats him like a human, always has. Even when Will was a prostitute Hannibal was considerate and civil. It’s a curious thing, examining the past in the present. They are worlds apart and yet tied together.

To this day no one knows him like Hannibal does. That was intoxicating in the past but now, it’s grown even stronger over the last decade. There is something welcoming about being known, familiarity that’s not unwanted or misunderstood. The very rooms of Hannibal’s house are known to Will. The memories there are not entirely unpleasant. That in itself is appreciated. So many of his memories are not welcome in his own mind.

Is it enough to be known and understood or should he want more? At the heart of all of this is what Hannibal wants. The dark desires within his own mysterious self, that’s what intrigues Will. It’s a mutually intrigued relationship. He knows this. Hannibal knows it too.

It’s not healthy. Will knows that. But he’s reluctant to surrender whatever they possess between the two of them regardless of that fact. He doesn’t know if he can give Hannibal up this time. He doesn’t want to walk away again.

He wants this.

Will turns his face into the pillow, smelling Hannibal.

The way Hannibal looks past the current jagged turn of his own tangled mind and still finds him interesting. The way Hannibal doesn’t reject him for what exists in Will’s own mind. Because Will is not a stranger to death, and murder. Maybe that’s why Hannibal is not appalled by him, just as Will understands the way Hannibal is.

Is it wrong to want to be accepted even if it’s by someone who’s done terrible things?

* * *

Will picks up his robe lying at the foot of the bed and pulls it on. He finds Hannibal in the study once more, reading before the fire with his ipad upon his lap, a glass of brandy at his side. He looks up at Will, a question in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Will comes forward.

Hannibal sets his ipad aside.

Will takes the footstool and pushes it over by the fire. It’s burning down now. He keeps his eyes on the low flames.

“What’re you afraid of, Will?”

“I’m afraid…that I won’t get out alive.” That whatever this was, it would end with him caught and tangled, bruised and hollowed-out, and in the end, abandoned, as what happens to things that aren’t any useful any longer. Hannibal says he wants to keep him, but in the end, once he has what he wants, he will grow bored with the mediocre staleness that resides within Will Graham’s core. No one will be interested forever. Will gazes at the flames, cheeks hot, unwilling to look away.

“Will.” Hannibal reaches out his hand. His fingertips glide over Will’s cheekbone, the gentlest caress. “I am not lying. I will not tire of you, not in the way that you fear.”

Will manages a small smile. “But you will tire of me.” It’s inevitable.

Hannibal smiles in return. “If I tire of you, I will tell you. How does that sound?”

His palm curves to cup Will’s cheek. Will lets himself lean into that caress. It’s comforting in its honesty.

“What happens after that?” Will whispers.

Hannibal’s other hand comes up to touch his face. “What do you think?”

There are three options.

Hannibal lets him go. Hannibal kills him. Hannibal…keeps him.

Hannibal kisses him, like he’s the ocean, and Will is drowning, peacefully, slowly, fluidly. Is it peaceful as you sink under the waves? His eyes are closed, and Hannibal’s holding him. The firelight dances upon Will’s face.

Is it possible to be calm as you surrender? Maybe not. But there is calmness in choice, and having chosen.

He opens his eyes.

Hannibal smiles as Will gazes up at him. “It’s not a dream, Will.”

“You’ve never seen my dreams.” _Not truly._

“No.” Hannibal concedes that much. “But you have told me of them.” It was years ago, but he remembers.

Will nods. He remembers that.

Hannibal’s hand lingers on his cheek and then he draws back. “I’m going up to bed now.” He takes a final swallow of brandy and sets the glass down. “You may join me if you wish.” _You may leave if you desire. You must choose._

His hand caresses Will’s hair for a brief moment before he takes his leave.

Will watches him go. He draws his knees up to his chin, gazing at the dying fire.

He shouldn’t be here. He should.

What should he do? What does he want? To rest, to sleep without dreaming. He thinks of that peaceful night long ago when Hannibal wrapped him in his bathrobe, and he slept like he had never slept before.

He should not get back into bed with Hannibal who stretches out there, waiting, watching Will with silent eyes. But there’s plenty of time to tell Jack. There’s a reason Hannibal has chosen to let Will know who, and what he is. A reason he helped Will catch that killer. A reason he didn’t carve Will’s heart out years ago.

It’s not love. Is it? Is this what the face of love looks like? It’s not healthy, it can’t be, but Will’s not sure he knows the meaning of the word any more.

There is plenty of time, he reminds himself, the sheets smooth underneath his bare skin, Hannibal warm beside him, drawing him closer.

This, Will knows, is only the beginning.


End file.
